The Lineup(56)

“I have boobs.”

He looks at them and back up at me. “That you do, sweet cheeks.”

“I mean, I have dangling things hanging off my body as well but mine weigh heavier than yours and they can cause backpain, plus they’re attached to very sensitive nipples.”

I watch him slowly swallow while his eyes fall to my breasts again. When he talks, his voice is a little squeaky. “Sensitive nipples, huh? Like what kind of sensitive? If I blew on them, would you have an orgasm?”

“Do you really believe that’s a thing?”

“I mean . . . yeah. Picture this.” He sets his apple cider down and shifts so he’s closer. His arm is draped over the back of the couch, and he sits close enough where he can pick up a strand of my hair and start twisting it in his finger, which he does. It’s a small move, my scalp barely registers the touch, but it causes my whole body to break out into goosebumps. “You’re tied up, wait . . . have you ever been tied up?”

“Umm, no,” I answer, my body starting to heat from the mention of being tied up. Is that something Jason does? Why can I easily see it, him in control in the bedroom, using that deep, unwavering voice of his to direct me how he wants me to sit, lie down, where to put my hands, what to touch, what not to touch, what to suck . . .

“Christ, okay, I’m going to ignore that answer.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “So, let’s say you’re tied up, you’re completely naked, legs spread, and arms above your head. You have no control in what happens to you next, and you’re at the mercy of your lover. He comes down on the bed and hovers over you but never touches you. He’s naked as well, his cock raging hard, because all he can focus on are your tight, tender nipples. They’re hard, aching, begging to be touched, but he doesn’t lift a hand to ease the pressure building inside of you. He can smell how aroused you are, and on top of wanting to suck your nipples into his mouth—hard—he wants to tongue your needy and delectable pussy and clit. Instead, he slowly lowers his head so he’s a whisper away from your nipples and he ever-so-lightly blows. It’s small, a featherlike wind that caresses you, but it starts to build, and build, and build, until the pressure that’s been coiling in your wet pussy starts to unfold. Your hips rub against the sheets, your body heaves, your spine straightens, and with one small flick of his tongue over your right breast, you tumble over into ecstasy, your orgasm plummeting you into a high, the kind of pleasure you haven’t felt in such a long time that you’re calling out his name, begging him to make it last longer . . .”

Fuck.

Breathless.

Throbbing.

And seconds away from straddling the man in front of me, ready to make him ease the ache he just put inside me.

“What do you think? Orgasm?” he asks, tugging on the strand of hair he’s been twirling.

Uhhhhh . . .

Yeah.

Parched mouth, I gulp my cider and then say, “I guess it would depend on the man.”

But I can tell you right now, the man sitting in front of me could probably speak a few more naughty words and I’d come from that. God, I want everything he just said. Now.

“I guess that’s true.” He leans back. “Okay, I should be getting to bed, I’m exhausted.” He holds his hand out for a high five and a part of me dies when I return it, wishing it was a hug, a kiss, a slip of his hand down my pants, something other than a high five only friends would share.

“Yeah, I’m tired too.” And turned on. “Are you good? Do you need anything?” A blow job? Something warm and tight to sink into? A boob in your mouth?

He stands and stretches his arms over his head. His shirt rolls up showing off his low-hanging pants and . . .

Oh.

My.

God.

His bulge.

It’s huge. I hold back the tears that want to fall from that small sneak peek. The towel picture has nothing on the in-person angle.

“I’m good,” he says, releasing his hands. “Want me to put your cup in the sink?”

“Yes.” I stand abruptly and hand him the half-drunk apple cider. “I, uh, yeah, I’m going to my room. Have a good night.”

“You too,” he calls out casually.

I quickly walk back to my bedroom, hearing dishes clattering in the sink in the distance. Get as far away from him as possible.

When I reach my room, I shut the door and lock it, as if that will stop me from attacking the man across the house. I make quick work of brushing my teeth and going to the bathroom, the whole time thinking about Jason and his laugh, his lighthearted smile, the way he casually touches me, but not in a sexual way, just a friendly way, the deep tone of his voice, the way he delivered his erotic speech like it was second nature.

By the time I reach my bed, I’m so worked up that I reach down and slip my hand under my nightgown where my legs are spread. I press my finger along my slit and good God, I’m so wet. Biting my bottom lip, I sink deeper into my mattress, run my other hand up my stomach to my breasts, and start playing with my nipples. I can feel him above me. Watching me. Breathing rapid breaths. Turned on. My hand down my panties brings the pleasure roaring in my body to a full-on inferno. God, I want him. I want his lips and tongue on my pussy, my clit. I want his fingers tugging my hair, pulling it hard as he sucks me in. I want him to lean down and blow breaths over my nipples, then suck them into his hot mouth. And then it hits, one of the strongest orgasms of my life. All because of the sexy-as-sin man on the other side of the house.