The need to have him touch me everywhere is strong, but before I can tell him what I want, one of his hands moves from my hips until he’s palming a breast. He squeezes gently before releasing and running his thumb over my hardened nipple. This drives me absolutely wild, and I thrusts my chest forward, begging with every whimper and moan for more.
Naturally, he complies.
He stops kissing me and props himself up on one arm to look down at me. “I’m going to remove your shirt now,” he informs me. I nod, unable to find my voice.
He leans back on his heals, and I sit up, raising my arms over her head to aid Greyston in his mission. The thin satiny fabric does little to hide my nipples—especially since I chose not to wear a bra. It suddenly occurs to me that Greyston is about to see my naked breasts for the first time. I’m nervous again.
He hooks his thumbs beneath the hem of my shirt and slowly moves his hands up. His palms and fingers ghost lightly over my sides as they move upward. He falters, almost hesitating when his palms feel the swell of each breast.
Almost.
The hem of my shirt grazes my nipples when he raises it above my head. I sigh at the sensation, closing my eyes and biting my lip as he tosses the shirt to the floor and brings his hands immediately back to my chest.
“God, your tits are beautiful,” he tells me.
“Mmm,” I hum, reaching out and loosening a few buttons on his shirt. “They’re okay.”
“No,” he says, squeezing and pinching my nipples. “They’re better than okay.”
I giggles, her cheeks heating up. “If you say so. I’ve never been much into boobs before, so what do I know?”
As Greyston continues to fondle my breasts, I finish unbuttoning his shirt and work on pushing it down his arms. When it reaches his elbows, it won’t go any further. I tilt my head to the left and arch an brow at him.
“Think you can tear yourself away long enough to take your shirt off?” I ask playfully.
He seems to struggle with the decision, glancing at his hands on my breasts. Eventually, he releases my chest and yanks his shirt down his arms. I’m not naïve enough to realize he moves quickly because he wants to be touching me again.
He rolls us onto our sides, and his fingers seem to follow an invisible trail his eyes have set. They start at my temple, moving down along my cheekbone and over my jaw before tracing the long line of my neck. I sigh, my body electrified and arching into him.
He pauses to kiss and lick the hollow of my throat, and my abdomen quivers against his. My pleasure is slowly mounting, but I’m still so far from where I want to be. His lips roam over my clavicle and down between my breasts while he cups one of them firmly.
“Oh god,” I pant, arching my back into Greyston’s touch.
He releases my chest, moving his hand firmly down my ribs and over my hips. His thumb firmly traces the soft curve of my hip, stopping once he’s reached the waist of my jeans.
“Do it,” I plead breathlessly. “Please.”
I don’t need to ask Greyston twice. He lowers his face to my breast and pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and making me hiss. He works quickly to undo the button of my pants before he slips one behind the denim and strokes me above the thin barrier of cotton. I see fireworks behind my closed eyelids. I writhe against Greyston’s hand as he moves it back and forth, tracing the inner-leg seam of my underwear several times before dipping a finger inside.
He releases my breast with a low pop and presses his forehead to my sternum. “Fuck me,” he mutters quietly, removing his finger and moving it up to the waist of my panties for better access and mobility.
The minute his entire hand slips beneath the fabric, I sigh a long “yesssssssss,” before thrusting my hips against Greyston’s hand.
He slips two fingers between my legs, circling and gliding with ease around my clit and catapulting me closer to the brink of orgasm. I’m lost above him—panting, writhing, and clinging to the arm of the couch as he pleasures me with his nimble and talented fingers.
“Jesus, you’re so wet.”
His words register immediately, and I gasp. My head shoots up, and I stare at Greyston with wide, horrified eyes.
He must sense my alarm, because he scoots up on the couch a little until we’re face-to-face and kisses me lightly while sliding his fingers back up again. The tingle returns, relaxing me a little, but not enough. “No no no… It’s good, baby,” he tries to assure me, kissing me again and teasing my opening. “So…fucking…good.”
He adds a little pressure, easing his finger inside me. My horror is forgotten, and I fall back onto the couch and moan as he presses deeper, using his thumb on my clit to draw out my burgeoning orgasm.