The First Taste(16)

I arch one eyebrow and suddenly, it’s clear as day: this is what drew me to Amelia from the start. Her amazing figure and her sweet red lips didn’t hurt, but with confidence like hers, I can’t help wondering where it comes from. I’m about to reach the source of it, my hands creeping higher. “You don’t need a man to feel sexy.”

“Does that scare you off?” she asks.

“No, but thanks for trying.”

I tease the skin under the band of her panties where her thigh and hip meet. She bites her lip. I want inside that mouth. I want inside her walls tonight, even though they’re high. It’s been so long since I was this attracted to someone. “It’s fine if you don’t need me,” I say, “but I need you.”

She wiggles under my feather-light touch, smiling a little. “No you don’t.”

“Yeah. I do.” I slide my finger down the elastic. “I need you tonight. Will you let me in?”

She wraps her hand around my wrist to hold me still, spreads her legs a little wider, and rolls her hips once. I don’t need more invitation than that. I touch her gently with the pads of two fingers. It isn’t fair for me to ask for more than this, especially because I’ll be gone in the morning, and I won’t look back. But I’m old enough to know there are two kinds of sex. You can see the person you’re inside of, or you can do everything in your power not to. The sex I’ve had lately is the latter. It has to be. That doesn’t mean I like it that way. I miss connecting with my partner when we’re intimate.

No, it isn’t fair to ask to be let in, but I need something with Amelia, even if it’s small. “Don’t hold back,” I say. “Promise me.”

“I think it’s been too long for me to try and control myself,” she says, her voice already tenuous, hinting at the passion building beneath the surface. “I’m likely to fall apart in your hands right now.”

My heart thumps. It isn’t what I meant, far more physical than emotional, but the thought of her dissolving for me gets me going. I want to undo her, mess up her perfect hair, chase away the tension in her muscles, smear her makeup. I swallow dryly and realize I’m breathing through my mouth again.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Patience gone, I push her panties aside and really feel her. Her chest rises and falls a little faster, her forehead creases as she draws her eyebrows together. We maintain eye contact despite the rawness of the moment. She’s hot against the tips of my fingers, but not as wet as I’d like. I tease her, watching her expression. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as I press into her warmth—her armor’s not as impenetrable as I thought. Because of her hard shell, it feels like a win.

With my other hand at the back of her head, I pull her mouth to me. I taste the whisky on her tongue and push a finger inside her. She slickens around me. I add another, feeling her from the inside. Though our lips are mashed together, we don’t kiss, simply breathing together and finding a rhythm, her grinding on my fingers as I flick them inside her. I want to f*ck—I don’t need any more convincing. She’s got to be good and ready for me, though. If it’s been a while for her, I have to make sure she enjoys this.

With my free hand, I search the back of her skirt. “How do I get this off?”

“Unzip it,” she moans.

I feel nothing but fabric and impatiently pull on the waistband. “Where? What zipper?”

“What?” Her eyes slit open, a lusty, drunken gaze. “Oh. Side.”

Side? What? I circle around her waist, searching, and she closes her eyes again, absolutely no help. “Please don’t stop,” she says.

I would chuckle over her sudden descent into arousal if I weren’t so hot to get the f*cking skirt off. It takes a few more seconds of one-handed struggling to locate a side zipper, get the skirt all the way around her waist and untuck her blouse. I stop fingering her long enough to remove them both, along with her underwear, and not a moment more. I want her sopping when I enter her.

I pop her bra with one hand, and her tits spill out. They’re too big for her small frame, and her tiny, pebbled nipples beg for my mouth. I start with her neck, nibbling the thin skin under her jaw before making my way down. She arches for me, falling back onto her elbows, groaning. I take a nipple between my teeth as I continue to work her into a frenzy. She shudders against me, spurring me to thrust faster, harder. Her wetness makes my fingers slippery, and the sucking sound turns my cock to stone. I move to the other breast, feeling ravenous, mouthing her with fervor normally reserved for eating *.

Which I also plan to do—later.

I reach into my back pocket with my free hand and get a condom. Looking down her body, then into her eyes, I tear the wrapper with my teeth. “I’m going to f*ck you now,” I tell her.

She nods hard. “Right now.”

“So give me back my hand,” I tease as she writhes on my fingers, “or open my pants for me.”

She pushes off her elbows and yanks me forward by the waist of my jeans. She unbuttons them deftly, sliding my zipper down. When she reaches in my underwear and wraps her hand around me, it’s all I can do not to growl. She isn’t timid. She holds me like a woman, her hand soft but firm, unafraid.

“You’re hard,” she says, stroking me once.