“Your Infinite Wisdom swore you’d take me home.”
He smiled at being called that. “And I will...TMA.”
She giggled nervously as he slid both hands under the shoulders of the coat and removed it, not taking his eyes off hers as he tossed it onto the boxes. She said, “Promise?”
“All kinds of things.”
The sweat-drenched blouse had dried in the car, and now the fabric was limp as he ran a finger downward, unbuttoning. Exhaling raggedly, he let his eyes rove. She was average height, but stacked, spilling out of her underwear. It just didn’t get better than this. He cupped a breast through a lacy light green bra, and a second later, a throaty groan tore from his throat. Too much fabric was between them, his slacks, her tights, and presumably her panties, but his thigh had found her crotch again and he was loving the feel of the dampness and the heat.
“God, you’re wet,” he whispered.
She nuzzled her face against him, using her cold, ski-jump nose to further open his shirt, her hair unbelievably soft on his skin, her cheeks chilly but warming as they swam in chest hair. His senses heightened, and a sudden gentle scrape of knotted metal from her earring felt like a leather whip.
“Feel free to keep talking,” he urged, not finding a hard edge anywhere on her as he explored. D.C. women could be gym-obsessive, their bodies as hard as rocks and possessing all the pliability of store mannequins, but this woman had soft cushions every place. “I’m going to be honest. It doesn’t matter what you say, because your voice is so fucking sexy...so say anything...”
“Anything.”
If he hadn’t been so horny he would have laughed. “Now try something.”
“Something.” As he bent to look into her Bambis again, she whispered, “Quit looking at me.”
“Why? Are you nervous?” Oh, yes, he really wanted to keep this woman talking. Her sudden shyness was another surprise, too. She was more comfortable if he just ravished her, and it brought out the worst in him, making him want to prolong the agony of seduction. Leaning, he slowly licked the very tops of her breasts, where the mounds of flesh began to crest. If he hadn’t known about her stupid day job, he’d think she hadn’t seen the light of day in eons. Pushing the blouse off her shoulders, he looked at the bra a long moment.
“You’ve got great taste in underwear.”
The voice was scarcely audible, the best it had sounded yet. “You have to lean a lot.”
He came closer, letting her feel the feathery heat of his breath on her neck long enough to build anticipation, then he whispered, “You’re short.”
She giggled wildly as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “No...” She poked his chest. “You’re tall.”
He hoped she wasn’t about to get argumentative. Drunks did sometimes, and she’d had a few too many. Not that he was taking advantage; she knew what she was doing. He said, “And now for your hair ornaments.”
That prompted another gale of giggles, since the ornaments were pencils. Having overheated while dancing, she’d taken them from the bar and used them to bind up the wild strawberry strands. As disheveled hair cascaded over her shoulders, he simply dropped the pencils, letting them clatter on the kitchen floor.
“I’m too short,” she announced, a hank of hair falling across her cheek. Since she looked so concerned, he kissed away the stray hair, then kissed her eyes shut. Unclasping the front hook of the bra, he closed a thumb and finger on a nipple, caressing, rolling, pinching until he stifled her sigh by covering her lips with his. Plunging his tongue, he let the kiss get good and wet.