So. Long(102)

He tugs up, and I try to pull down to help. My loosed boobs bounce willy-nilly as we fight over control of the layered bras. It seems to make things worse when the bottom edge, which is now at the top, rolls under itself and tightens the noose that’s probably going to strangle my sex appeal.

He says, “Be still and let go. I’ll get it.”

My death certificate will read, Official cause of death: Mortification.

I hold still and let go. Of my pride. Of my sanity.

This beautiful man—a man who could have any gorgeous Hollywood starlet he wants—is going to yank and tug. He’ll probably have to push me to the floor so he can use his foot on the top of my head as leverage to free me from my damn-dems-some-big-titties bra.

He’s going to laugh.

I’m going to die.





EIGHT





With one quick jerk, I’m free. The air rushes in to cool my scalding cheeks. I drop the not-so-sore side of my forehead into my palm, propping my elbow on the arm tucked over my liberated tits.

I should do something. I know there’s an appropriate thing to do when the guy you want to have sex with has had to exert physical labor to free you of your clothing. Whatever that thing is escapes me at the moment.

I sigh. That’s the extent of my coping skills for this particular situation. I need to study dealing with embarrassing situations. I could write a book based on my own first-hand experiences.

Large hands circle my wrists. They tug gently.

I tighten up. “Not ready.”

He gets on his knees in front of me and peeks around my arm.

Looking up at me, he smiles and runs his palms over my thighs, still encased in my pants. “That was fun. Let’s do it again.”

He licks his lips, and I roll my eyes.

“I promise that all my bras aren’t that hard to get out of.”

He pulls my hand to his shoulder, and then he unties my shoes, removing them while I use him to balance.

I let out a huff. “I can’t believe that wasn’t the biggest turn-off ever.”

He hooks his fingers into my waistband and peels my pants down to my ankles. “Are you shitting me? Those tits are fucking epic. And to watch them bounce? Damn, woman. I can’t wait to set you astride my cock and see how high I can get them to go.”

I smack his shoulder. “You’re a mess.”

“And you’re hot as fuck. I want to spend a week satiating this hunger.” He slides his fingers under the elastic of my panties and drags them down.

He leads me to the tub, holding my hand as I step in. Warm enough to sting a bit, but not burn. I sit, sinking up to my ears in bubbles.

I lean back as Jackson yanks his shorts down over his very erect cock. My mouth waters, and my core clenches. He’s possibly the most beautiful man ever.

He wraps his fingers around his dick and pushes and pulls his hand up and down it a couple of times, his eyes hot and on me. “See this? That’s what you do to me, Peaches. I’ve been walking around with a half-boner pretty much since we met. And when I see you, it’s all I can do to keep it in my pants.”

I swish the water around me. “Well, don’t feel too bad. I have lady-wood whenever you’re anywhere in the immediate vicinity. That’s not something I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Yeah?”

I shrug. “Yeah. Now, are you getting in here with me or are you just posing for my viewing pleasure while I bathe?”

“Yes, I’m getting in. But let me get us a couple of drinks.”

He steps out of the bathroom, but he’s back before I can even get my hands between my legs to give my clit a little rub. I move my legs up to the side of the tub. But he comes to the end where I lounge.

I take the offered glass of wine.

He’s still standing there. His cock is right there.

I grasp his hard-on with my bubble-covered hand. “Aren’t you getting in?”

“Yes, as soon as you scoot up so I can slide in behind you.”

I move. He steps in and sits with his legs on either side of me. Reaching around, he grabs my tits and rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, sending a zing of pleasure straight to my cunt.

Fishing around in the water behind me, I take hold of his cock. We massage each other for a few seconds before he pulls away.

“What’s wrong?”

He downs the rest of his wine.

“I’m going to wash your hair.” He draws me to him until my back is against his chest. His cock presses into me, keeping me high on anticipation.

With his wine glass, he dips water to pour over my head, careful to keep it out of my closed eyes.

This isn’t a rich man’s house. This is Heaven. Maybe I did die of mortification, and, because it was such a horrible death, God has granted me an eternity with this angelic version of Jackson Tremaine.