Sure Thing(5)

I drop my shirt to the floor and leave it there. My trousers follow suit and she glances at the pile of clothing for a brief moment, her fingers twitching. I think she’s contemplating picking my clothing off the floor like she did her own but she refrains with a slight shake of her head, then turns her attention to my bare chest with a smile. A feisty little grin that she must feel isn’t very sophisticated because she immediately tries to hide it.

“So,” she says with a small shrug as she places her palm on my chest, her fingers spreading outwards in exploration. The slight inhale of breath and bubbly grin tell me she’s happy with her choice for a one-off, gaining confidence in the moment. She presses her lips together to hide the smile then asks, “Now what?” Her head tilts towards the side as she asks, the hint of her pink tongue pressing between her lips. I can find a better use for that, most certainly.

That’s it. I’m not waiting any longer. I wrap my fingers behind her neck and yank her to me as I cover her lips with my own. Her lips are soft and warm and she tastes faintly like the cherry she sucked off my fingers earlier and smells of vanilla or possibly coconut. I think it’s her hair. And then she moans, the most delightful microscopic moan of excitement or approval. I like it, whatever it is. I dig my fingers into her hair as I maneuver her to deepen the kiss and it’s every bit as silky as I’d imagined. Thick, silky strands that feel seductive under my fingers. Strands I could hold like a leash while I fuck her from behind or while she kneels before me with my cock in her mouth.

I lift her off her feet, her legs wrapping around my waist as I walk her towards the bed, unsnapping her bra as I go. Her arms are crossed behind my neck, her fingers working their way into the hair at my nape as she breaks away from my mouth, moving her lips to my jaw and grinding her pelvis against me with a subtle lift of her hips. I set her on the edge of the bed and slide the straps of her bra down her arms till it’s dangling from my fingertips, then toss it aside. Her right shoulder hitches a fraction but her eyes don’t follow the bra so I don’t think she’s contemplating picking it up off the floor. Instead her eyes rest on my chest and she quickly bites her bottom lip before releasing it again. What is she thinking and why do I care? She’s hot and she wants me, end of.

“I didn’t expect you, Rose, but I’m glad you’re here. On my bed. Ready for me.”

She looks uncertain for a moment, as if she’s second-guessing her decision, and I wonder how experienced she is. If I should be worried about her being underage. It’s doubtful but worth asking. I’ve always subscribed to the ‘ask, don’t guess’ policy when it comes to women.

“How old are you, love?” I question and her eyes snap up from my chest to meet mine.

“Twenty-six,” she answers immediately, and she no longer looks uncertain, she looks irked. “How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-six.” I smile. I like her. I can’t imagine she gives a toss what my age is. I think she only spat the question out as some form of retaliation for asking hers.

“Thirty-six?” Her brows rise and she gives me a quick once-over before shrugging and working to clear her face of surprise. “Right, okay. I guess that’s fine.”

I raise a brow at her. Is this girl I’m never going to see again really giving me shit about my age?

She runs her eyes across my chest again and then tilts her head to the side with a, “Huh,” said to herself. Then she twists her lips before meeting my eyes again with a, “Yeah, okay.” I can’t recall ever knowing a woman so transparent with her thoughts. I find myself smiling again, amused with her.

I roll her nipple between my fingers and she inhales. Her reactions are stunning. Time to get this liaison back on track. I kneel on the floor in front of her, hook my thumbs into the sides of her knickers and pull until she lifts her hips enough for me to slide the material over her bottom and to the floor. Her toenails are painted hot pink and I slide my hands along the arches of her feet as I go about admiring how lovely she is. The soft arch of her hips, the shape of her calves, delicate ankles and a tiny birthmark on the top of her left foot.

I slide her knees apart and move between them, her thighs spread wide. Her breath catches as I grasp a nipple with my teeth and lightly pull. Her tits are as perfect as every other part of her, but they’re not my focus right now. I want to taste her—no, I need to taste her. I need the memory of her taste on my tongue when I think of this night or I’ll always wonder what I missed.

I push her back onto the bed and work my way down her stomach, my destination clear. Her legs flutter against my shoulders as if she’s tensed, but then they relax and fall further open as one of those delightful half-sighs, half-moans I’ve already come to associate with her emits from her lips.