“Lie back. Spread your legs.”
She did and he hooked a finger in her panties to sweep them aside.
“Didn’t get to really look before,” he explained. “You’re so wet, you’re glistening.” And he played with a finger in her wetness to show her.
“Nngha.”
“You’re supposed to be showing me, I know, but I can’t not touch. Do you mind?”
She shook her head, officially speechless.
He put the tip of one finger to her clit, and sensation spread like fire all through her groin, gathered itself faster than she thought possible and burst outward. He slid two fingers into her as she came and crooked them upward to tap her G-spot, and she came again, no space between to catch her breath. When her body stopped seizing and convulsing, she discovered both her calves were cramped. She had to take deep breaths to let go.
Then he stood up and took off his sweatshirt and his T-shirt.
This was for her. No mirrors, no Judy. No barber shop, no department store, no clothes.
Just the two of them, and she got to stare at him for as long as she wanted. All the muscles in his torso seemed to narrow toward his waist. Her gaze played over the ridges of his abs, the sculpted perfection of his pecs and the line of muscle that started at his hip and dived downward. The tufts of hair under his arms, the thickness of his shoulders and the leanness of his arms intoxicated her.
Slowly, reverently, she rose to her knees and came to the edge of the bed. He stood there and let her touch, her hands drifting, squeezing, caressing. She followed lines to where they curved, curves to where they ran straight and strong. He was like a cover model in a magazine, but warm and supple to the touch, real. Even his hair was just right, dusted across his chest and arrowing down into his jeans.
She reached for the button and he let her unfasten and unzip him. She ducked her head and—
“Nope.” He stopped her from putting her mouth where it desperately wanted to go.
She slanted him a look of disbelief.
“I can give you about three minutes, max, Hav. All depends on where you want me.”
She groaned. Everywhere. She wanted him everywhere.
“How’s this for a deal? You let me inside you now, I’ll let you suck me as long as you want later.”
There was nothing left to say. She pointed to the night table drawer and he opened it and took out a condom. Tearing the plastic wrapper and dropping it on the floor, he worked the latex down over his cock with one hand. The sight of that hand moving skillfully over his erection made her groan again. He was thicker around than any man she’d been with, cut and perfectly formed, with a wide swollen head she wanted against her soft palette almost more than she wanted him inside her. But not quite.
He slid her panties off and tossed them over the side of the bed. Up toward her he crawled, but this time he insinuated his body between her thighs, letting her feel all of him—the rough chest hair, the ridges of his abs, the trail of hair tickling her clit where her legs had parted wide for him. Then the hard, hot length of him pressing into her, dipping just the very tip into her wetness and—Jesus, he was way too good at this—using that same tip to rub back and forth over her too-swollen, too-sensitive clit until she was begging him. Begging him. Legs spread, stubble under her arms, breath of unknown freshness, in all her unkempt, unpolished glory, not giving the slightest fuck, saying, “Mark, please, please, please, please, please, please.”