Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(59)

“Are you serious?”

“Nope.”

“What useless sacks of shit.”

“One sad sack I met wanted to debate whether the female orgasm is a myth or not,” she said. “While we were in bed.”

I hung my head. “Oh, man.”

“Indeed.” She half smiled. “But we were doing something before this discussion derailed us.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” I clapped my hands, rubbed them together. I just had to get my head back in the game. Get the mood back somehow. “How do you want to do this?”

“What if I give you something else to focus on?”

“Sounds good. What have you got?”

In response, she peeled off her top and tossed it aside. Then she immediately covered her belly with her arms, leaving her skinny jeans and siren-red bra on display.

“Okay, I did it,” she said, speaking more to herself than to me.

“You certainly did.”

“Your turn.”

I kneeled in front of her, my gaze hooked by the promise of that bra. Trailing fingers softly back and forth along her arms, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. I licked my lips. So much soft, bare skin calling to me. I’d dearly love to make a feast of the woman.

Then she clicked her fingers in front of my face. “Eric, take off your shirt, please.”

I ripped it off straight over my head, catching it on my ponytail for a second. Damn hair. Apparently the sight of me pleased her, because she stopped worrying about hiding her belly and started touching me instead. Fingers stroking over my shoulders and up my neck.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” she hummed, moving closer.

Jean slid off the couch and into me, forcing me back. It required some hasty work, but somehow by pushing aside Ada’s jungle gym, blanket, and the coffee table, we found enough room to make out on the rug. With me on my back and Jean straddling my hips, the world was simply awesome. Christ, the sight of her red silk–covered tits and eager hands. Not that I was slacking off in the feeling her up category. She pressed her mouth to mine, her body to mine, and my mind was blown. The long line of her back and slender column of her neck. Her lips and tongue and everything.

Any earlier uneasiness, all of those bad thoughts, they were chased far away.

“Pants are the worst,” she murmured, rocking against me.

Fuck, it felt amazing. “Absolutely.”

“But we should probably take it slow.”

“Whatever you want,” I panted. “But what about the bra?”

Hands set beside my head, she eased back a bit. “I did say naked from the waist up.”

“You did.”

She exhaled softly. “Go for it.”

“Yes!”

My experienced fingers got rid of that red bra in no time and then there she was. Perfect brown nipples. The woman was all sweet curves. She fit into my hands just right.

“I’m sorry you feel they let you down when it came to breast-feeding,” I said. “But they are absolutely beautiful.”

Smiling, she leaned down to kiss me again. If red silk had been fine against my chest, hard nipples and soft skin were even better. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been this excited about just making out and reaching second base. Though I guess second base was really just copping a feel, while we were both half naked rolling around on the floor. So second base with a hint of stealing third maybe. We’d reversed positions, Jean under me, her legs wrapped around my hips. By the time we finally made it into a bed, we’d have dry-humping down to an art form.

“I can feel you,” she whispered.

“This does not surprise me.” I kissed a path up her neck, nibbling on her ear. “Pretty sure I’m about to break the damn fly on my pants.”

She laughed, her hands running down my sides. But then she got serious. “Do you mind, taking it in stages?”

“No. I am perfectly happy right where I am.”

“Good.”

Our kisses got messier, longer, and deeper. My stubble scratched lightly across her soft skin. I wanted to explore every inch of her. Find out what made her sigh and what made her squirm and laugh. I’d happily worship her tits for hours. Kissing and licking them made her hips buck and there was every chance I’d die of the world’s biggest hard-on. Because of course my dick ached to be inside of her. But this was all about what made Jean happy.

I could wait. I would wait.

God only knows how long we made out on the floor. Time did not exist. But Ada most certainly did and eventually she woke up wanting her late-night feeding.

“The books say you can start thinking about weaning her off the middle of the night feeding at four to six months.”

“You’re still reading the books?” asked Jean, hunting around. “Do you see my bra anywhere?”

“By the bear, and here’s your top.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, I just … I’m interested in her development, you know?”

“I think it’s sweet. You two are like buddies.” She got her bra back on, a huge grin on her face. “That was some good clean adult fun, though.”

“Maybe next time we can move onto having some good dirty adult fun,” I suggested, pulling my shirt back on. “If you’re ready.”