Dirty Scoundrel(20)

I know just how she feels. I want to cover her with my body, to feel her  naked skin, soft and smooth, against mine. More than anything, I just  want to keep touchin' her. "Remember back when we used ta make out in my  truck?" I ask her, sliding my hand up the material of her dress and  undoing the tiny little corset hooks that crawl up the front. "You would  wear these dainty little sweaters and you never wanted me to put my  hand under 'em, because you were shy. 'Cept we'd get to kissin', and  then you'd have your hands under my shirt and start beggin' all kinds of  things like, ‘Please, Clay, touch me.' And I would, because that's like  askin' a drownin' man not to breathe air." The hooks pop under my  fingers, and as each one loosens, more of her pearly skin is exposed to  the air.

She's completely quiet as I speak, but her gaze is riveted to mine.

"And I remember reachin' under those sweaters and brushin' my hand over  your tits and thinking that life didn't get much better than that," I  murmur. The last hooks come undone, and then she's spillin' out of that  dress, the material fallin' away from her gorgeous body until there's  nothing but her gorgeous breasts in the open air. "Guess I shoulda  dreamed a little harder, because right now, I can't see how that could  possibly compare to this moment. And then when I touch you again, it's  gonna get even better." I lean in closer, because I want nothing more  than to bury my face between those beautiful breasts. It takes  everything I have just to gently rub two knuckles between the valley of  'em. "So now, I'm seein' how perfect you are in this moment, and you  know what I'm thinkin?"         

     



 

"What?" She's all breathless.

"I'm thinkin' it ain't gonna hold a candle to when I get my face between your thighs."

The moan that breaks free from her is full of need. She closes her eyes  and arches slightly on the bed, and it makes those magnificent breasts  of hers bounce in a way that I can't resist. I cup one, dragging my  thumb over the budded tip, and love that she moans again. I want her to  grab me and hold me against her, but I guess we ain't there yet.

Yet.

I lower my head and drag my beard over her other breast, letting it  prickle against her skin. I can't wait to taste her, but I'm gaugin' her  reaction first. I know I can't show up out of nowhere after seven years  and expect her to get wet the moment I touch her, but that doesn't mean  I ain't gonna try. I use my tongue, next, sliding it over the tip of  one pink nipple and teasing the other with my fingers.

She makes a low, needy sound, and her fingers dig into the blankets on the bed. "Clay," she pants.

Now, that's more like it.

"These are some pretty nipples," I murmur to her, and give one an  appreciative lick. "Tasty, too. Think your pussy tastes half as good as  these do?"

Natalie whimpers, pulling at fistfuls of the sheets.

"What's that?" I tease. "Find out for myself? Don't mind if I do." I  smooth a hand down the front of her dress, where it's bunched at her  thighs. I can't find clasps like the ones that held the top together,  though, and end up just rubbing her mound through the fabric even as I  nuzzle at her nipple. My cock's straining against my pants, and I feel  desperately close to coming-even though I know we're just gettin'  started. This is as far as I ever got with Natalie. Once, we dry-humped  in the front seat of my truck until she had a tiny orgasm, but we didn't  go that far again. She was afraid to push it and I just wanted to make  her happy.

Looking back, I was far too patient as a teenager. Because as I tease  her nipples and rub my hand over her cunt through the dress, she makes  wild, gasping noises and writhes on the bed. It's clear that she likes  it when I touch her.

Fuck knows why we both waited so long to make this happen. "Want to take  this dress off so I can touch you the way you deserve to be touched?"

"Yes," she tells me, and I reward her with a nip on her breast that makes her breath catch and her entire body shudder.

"Then show me how to remove this damn thing," I tell her, tugging at the  material. Never thought it'd be so hard to undress a woman.

Natalie reaches for something on her side, and I see a hidden zipper.  Okay, weird that it would open in the front and on the side, but I've  long ago accepted that women dress in bizarre creations. Of course, if  her hands are busy, that gives me freedom to enjoy myself. I lean in and  suck lightly at her breast as she fiddles with her skirt, and her  surprised little moan sends a jolt all the way to my cock.

Then the zipper goes down and she's pushing the material down her  thighs. Good. I lick at her nipple again, and help her push the dress  off of her body, though I nearly lose control when she raises one curvy,  beautifully shaped leg into the air. Still wearin' those damn  wicked-looking shoes. God have mercy.

I'm distracted away from the shoes by the sight of her panties, though.  They're a delicate pink-and-white-floral cotton, a tiny scrap of fabric  against the lush softness of her thighs. Fuck yeah. That's more like it.  Boldly, I push my hand between her slightly spread legs and cup her  pussy. I'm shocked to feel that the fabric of her panties is already  soaked. "You that turned on, baby?"

This time, she doesn't haughtily demand that I not call her baby. She  only shudders and gives me that hot, needy look that turns me on so damn  much.

I bite back the possessive growl that threatens to rise in my throat.  Love this. Love how turned on she is. How helpless before me. How lush  and inviting. I nip at her breast again and she tilts her head back,  crying out as I rub my fingers along the wet seam of her cunt through  her panties. She presses up against my hand as I do so, and the need to  cover her body and make her mine grows stronger by the second. My sac  feels tight against my cock, and I know if I don't pace myself, I'm  going to blow it.

Literally and figuratively.

And she hasn't come yet. She's enjoying herself-it's obvious from the  dampness of her panties as well as the soft little cries she's  making-but she's not there yet. It don't matter that I bought her for my  pleasure; I'm not getting off until Natalie does. I want her to want  this-want me-as bad as I want her. I need to figure out what takes her  from "enjoying herself" to "going wild." It's gonna take a little  experimenting, of course, but that's half the fun.         

     



 

I shift in the bed, sliding my body alongside hers until I'm lying on my  side next to her. Like this, I can lean over and kiss her, or pet her  pretty breasts, or push my hand into her panties. She gives me a soft  look, blinking up at me as I do, as if waiting to see what I'm going to  do next. I feel like a king admiring his prize possession, or a man  about to feast at a banquet. There's so many places I want to taste, to  touch, to tease . . .

But mostly, I want her to come. I think about that time in my car when  she made the softest little cry into my ear as she rubbed up against me,  and I know I want to hear that again. Scratch that, I want to hear it  magnified by a thousand times. I want her clawing up and down my back  with her need.

That's what I want.

Kisses are the way to get there, I think. Starting with kisses. I lean  in and brush my mouth over hers, and she responds eagerly. This time,  she reaches for me, her arms going around my neck, her lips eager  against mine. I rest my hand on her pussy again, and I feel her tense,  though her kisses grow hungrier. I slick my tongue against hers until  she relaxes in my arms, and then I push the fabric of her panties aside  and explore her with my fingers.

She gasps against my mouth.

"Want me to stop?" I give her a light kiss. If she asks me to, I will.  Don't matter how much money I've spent-if she ain't into it, that kills  it for me.

But Nat shakes her head and bites down on my lower lip, then sucks on  it. Her thighs tighten around my hand, and I can feel her quiverin' but  she's still kissing me like her life depends on it.

And I'm lost. Touching her cunt is . . . indescribable. She's impossibly  soft, her folds slippery and wet with need. She's scorchingly hot  between her legs, too, as if all of the blood in her body is rushing  here. I stroke her, exploring her with my fingertips. She didn't shave,  her mound capped by a trim thatch of hair, but I like that. I slide a  finger up and down her folds, seeking out her clit, and I'm almost  surprised when I find it. Her gasp is the only thing that tells me that  I've struck the right spot, so I slow down in my exploring until I find  it again-there, nestled in her folds, is the tiniest of bumps. When my  finger brushes against it again, her body jerks in response.

Jackpot.

Nat whimpers into my kiss as I drag my finger over it again. I slick my  tongue against hers, claiming her mouth with deep, tender strokes as I  rub my finger over her clit.

This time, she cries out and pushes my hand away. "Too sensitive," she pants, pressing her forehead to mine. "Sorry. It's just-"