Accidentally Amy(48)

Izzy: Negative. I’m all naked now. Just me and a comforter.
Blake: And I’m 20 ft away holy shit.
Blake tried to focus on his phone and not the images she was putting in his head.
Izzy: And you’re just now telling me? ;)
It was getting hot in the apartment again. He texted: May I ask you a question?
Izzy: I’ll allow it.
Blake: How would you like me to proceed?
Izzy: Confession - the thought of you and I together in this bed makes it hard to breathe.
Something about her confession made his heart twist in his chest, maybe the fact that he felt the same way. He texted: Confession – the thought of you and I together in my bed makes it hard to breathe.
Izzy: Really?
Blake: So hard.
He walked to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. Izzy was lying on her stomach in his bed, covered by his comforter. Her shoulders and upper back were visible, bare except for the thin black strap across her back, and she was looking down at her phone.
Holy hell, he wanted that so much. Not just the obvious, but the mundane. He wanted Izzy in his bed, scrolling on her phone like it was an ordinary occurrence, all the time.
He texted: I am 5 ft away.
He heard her inhale sharply before she responded. Are you in the doorway?
Blake: Yes. I dare you to remove that bra.
She cleared her throat and texted: I cannot pass up a dare, can I?
Blake: I sure as fuck hope not.
His skin felt hot as he watched her slim fingers reach around her back, unhook her bra, then fling it off the edge of the bed. She raised herself up, onto her elbows, and texted: How far away are you now?
His eyes were stuck to her bare back, to her pale, naked skin that set fire to every one of his fantasies.
The reality of Izzy was a thousand times better.
He texted: I’m ready to pounce. Is it weird that I want to lick every bump of your spine?
Izzy: Not as weird as how badly I want to bury my face in your pillow and let you.
Blake: My phone and I are about to die.
Izzy: Please lose the pants before you do.
Blake had never unbuckled and unbuttoned faster in his life. The room was so quiet that the click of his belt buckle hitting the floor confirmed he’d done as she’d asked. She responded with: Good boy.
“That’s it,” Blake said, dropping his phone and charging over to the bed. “I’m coming in.”


    Izzy
She screamed – a cackling laugh of a scream - when Blake’s big hand wrapped around her ankle. He dove under the covers and crawled up her body – well, up the back of her body – but the laughing stopped when she felt his hands on her hips, his mouth on the small of her back.
She shivered and let out a sigh that might’ve been a moan as his lips and tongue moved up her spine, his big body poised above hers with the space of a breath between them. When his mouth hit the back of her neck, he rasped her name in a way that made her toes curl.
She could feel the rumble of his voice on her skin, and she wanted to see his face. Needed to see his face. Izzy turned over underneath the bridge of his arms, and the sight of him hovering above her, with his hair tousled, his eyes all heavy-lidded and hot, made her realize it was the first time she’d ever been knocked breathless just from looking at someone.
“Hey,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Hey.” He swallowed.
“Listen, um,” she started, rubbing her lips together and trying to think of something to keep it chill, but then he cut her off by kissing her. His lips came down on hers, somehow different – yet again – than every other time they’d kissed.
Blake Phillips apparently had an entire dossier of kisses at his disposal and dispensed them with the utmost care. So far she’d had sweet, sexy, and hot, but this one was dirty. Filthy. She’s thought the Billboard Assholes kiss was a sex kiss, but no.
This was a sex kiss.
His mouth was just as hot and hungry, but it had the patience that went along with having all night. It felt like foreplay and tantric marathon sex, all at once, and Izzy stopped thinking and held on for dear life. She brought her arms up and around him, letting her fingers flex into the muscles of his back, needing to bring him closer.
He made a primal noise deep in his chest – a growl or a groan or a grunt – as their bodies pressed together. She could feel every inch of him – chest, stomach, thighs – and she bit down on his bottom lip, instantly impatient for everything his body had to offer her.
That was apparently the green light he’d needed, because it was on. His greedy mouth moved lower, licking down the column of her throat in a way that had her pressing and straining to feel more. Her arms fell to the bed when his mouth moved south, worshipful with the kind of enthusiasm that made her feel like her chest was everything he’d ever fantasized about.
He made a noise and delivered a nip that made her squeal, a squeal that turned into a pornographic moan as his mouth continued the onslaught that was making her wild. How is he so good at that? He only got better as he moved down her body, kissing every bit of her and making her writhe, tremble, gasp and scream.
It wasn’t just that he was skilled at the tasks he was performing or the way she was fairly certain she had an extraordinary hickey on her hipbone. No, it was that everything he did, every move he made, shimmered through her entire body like waves in a pool.
His fingers sliding over her skin – she felt them where he touched, but she also felt them in the depths of her chest, the racing of her heart, and the heat of her cheeks.
When he kissed her belly, she felt the heat of his mouth on her flesh, and also in the pit of her stomach.