Rm w/a Vu(58)

But Greyston? Oh, god. His lips are soft, the pressure alternating between gentle and firm and bringing a delightful pulse to the surface of my own. Then there’s his tongue… well, it’s like he’s teasing me, giving me just the smallest taste of him for seconds at a time before robbing me of the sensation entirely. It’s maddening, but in the best possible way.

Confident that Greyston isn’t going to stop kissing me, I release my hold on his hair slightly while my other hand slowly lowers his zipper. He groans, and the hand that he’s had tangled in my hair since we began kissing unweaves itself and moves down my neck. His thumb presses firm against the skin along my jaw, pushing my head back and breaking our kiss. His lips press down just below my jaw, following the hard trail his thumb is leaving down the length of my neck. The minute he reaches my collarbone, his hand leaves my body, but his mouth remains focused on the hollow of my throat—kissing, licking, nipping, and driving me crazy with desire.

I move to protest the loss of his hand, but before I can, I feel the backs of his knuckles against my ribs as he works to undo my flannel top. His agile fingers have it open in seconds, and soon his hand is hovering above my breast. I’ve still got my tank top on, but it’s so thin that I can feel absolutely everything.

He’s barely touching me, and yet I’ve never felt so much pleasure. The palm of his hand ghosts over the peak of my breast, both of my nipples hardening at the barely-there sensation, and I thrust my chest forward in hopes of forcing his touch.

He chuckles against my neck, his warm breath against my skin causing an uprising of gooseflesh. “Easy,” he whispers, tightening his hold on my ass and pulling me toward him again, giving me just a small tease of what my body so desperately wants.

I whimper and plead with him, but he continues to drive me wild with whatever devilish plot he’s cooked up to prolong my pleasure. He doesn’t give in no matter how much I tell him to, and I decide that I’ll just have to convince him another way.

I bring my feet up, hook them into the waist of his jeans, and try to work them down. He lifts his face, his gaze burning into my own, and he shakes his head. “Juliette…”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I want to.”

“So do I,” he assures me firmly. “But I won’t have my way with you on the kitchen counter…yet.”

I pull his face back to mine and kiss him harder than before. When I press my body closer to his, his hand finally makes contact with my breast, and I moan shamelessly against his busy lips when he squeezes firmly.

“Please,” I plead, a tremor working through my body when his fingers curl over the top of my shirt, preparing to pull it down.

I’m lost to everything but the two of us. All I smell is Greyston’s cologne. All I taste is the coffee he had to drink this morning. All I see is the blue of his eyes. All I hear is our collective moans filling the kitchen. All I feel are his soft lips, his strong hands, his hard—

“Oh my!” My mother’s shrill voice burns through my perfect little bubble like a meteor, forcing Greyston and I to frantically scramble apart as we try to cover any exposed parts; thankfully we hadn’t gone as far as I was hoping to, so there wasn’t a lot to be seen. “I’ll, uh…we’ll…”

We. I don’t have to turn around to know what that means—but I do, because apparently I’m masochistic.

I turn to find my mom pushing my wide-eyed father from the kitchen. “We knocked,” she’s saying, probably to me. “No one answered. The door was unlocked. We’re so sorry.”

I’m petrified. Embarrassed. Horrified that they saw me in a less than innocent position. With Greyston. My landlord. Who my father used to like.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, burying my face in my hands. “I knew they were coming over to take me to lunch. I didn’t think… Oh, god.”

Greyston doesn’t say anything, but I feel his warm hands wrap around my wrists and pull them down. “You keep doing that.” I look up at him through my lashes, my eyebrows pulled together. “Apologizing,” he clarifies.

I laugh dryly and drop my eyes to the floor. However, on their descent, I catch a glimpse of the top of his underwear and smirk. He must know what’s caught my attention, because he reaches for his jeans and moves quickly to do them up.

“Ooooh no,” I tell him, grabbing for his jeans and pulling them open again. I glance up at him once more before looping my index finger into the elastic waist of his underwear…his pink underwear. With a giggle, I pull him back to me before doing his pants up for him.