I push my weight onto my arms, lifting my backside off of the worktop so he can draw them down my legs, lowering myself back down when I’m free from the constraints of my underwear. I’m stark naked, and he’s still fully dressed. And he doesn’t look like he has any intention of removing his clothes anytime soon. I want to see that chest. I move my hands from the edge of the counter to the hem of his shirt.
He steps back, shaking his head slowly. ‘Hands,’
I pout, returning my hands to the worktop edge. I want to see him, feel him. This is not fair.
He positions his hands on his top button. ‘You want me to remove my shirt?’ His low, husky voice is playing havoc with my discipline.
‘Yes.’ I breathe.
‘Yes, what?’ he smirks at me, and I narrow my eyes on him.
‘Please.’ I grate, in a long drawn out breath, well aware that he’s getting a thrill from making me beg.
He smiles as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on me. It takes every bit of effort not to reach forward and yank it open. Why is he making such a meal of this? He knows what he’s doing. He’s making me wait. It’s torturous.
When he finally gets to the last button, he rolls his shoulders, pulling his shirt off. For the briefest moment - when both arms are flexed back, his muscles bulging and rippling with his movement - I think I might pass out.
He kicks his tan Grensons off and removes his socks. He’s naked except for his trousers. I run my eyes over his perfect physic, my mouth watering, until I see that vicious mar on his abdomen. My eyes pause on it momentarily, but he positions himself back between my legs, snapping me from my curiosity. I fight the urge to grab him. The pressure on my core has me shifting on the counter to ease the immense spasms searing through me. And he’s not unaffected himself. His huge erection is straining against the front of his trousers, pressing hard into my thigh.
He rests his hands so they span the tops of my legs, his thumbs on my inside thigh slowly circling, millimetres from my aching core. I’m raw with pure lust, my rapid breathing becoming increasingly difficult to regulate.
He squeezes my thighs. ‘Where to start?’ he muses, lifting one hand and running his thumb across my bottom lip. ‘Here?’ he asks. My lips part. He watches me as he slides his thumb into my mouth, and I circle it with my tongue, his lips lifting at the corners in a diminutive smile. He withdraws his thumb, running it across my cheek, then, very slowly, he strokes his flat palm down my neck and onto my pumping chest before cupping my breast possessively. ‘Or here?’ His husky voice is betraying his calm façade as he raises a questioning eyebrow at me, circling my nipple with his thumb. I gasp.
If he’s expecting me to talk, then he can forget it. Speech has totally eluded me, being replaced with short, sharp breaths.
‘These are mine.’ He gently kneads my breast for a few moments before recommencing his hand stroke down my sensitive skin. He spends a few seconds making big circles on my stomach before he continues downwards. As the heat of his hand reaches the inside of my thigh, I force myself to breathe. I’m struggling and feeling dizzy with lust
Just when I think he’s going to claim me with his fingers, he swiftly changes direction, running his hand around my hip, causing me to jerk. He cups my arse.
‘Or here?’ He’s completely serious. I go rigid. ‘Every single inch, Ava,’ he breathes. I’m holding my breath, my lungs burning, as he smiles a little, his hand starting to drift back around to my front. He doesn’t mess about – he cups me. ‘I think I’ll start here.’
I release my breath in a thankful rush, relief swamping my entire being. He taps his finger under my chin so I’m forced to look up into his sludgy eyes.
‘But I did mean every inch.’ he affirms coolly, before placing his hand on the worktop besides my thigh, his other hand still cupping my core.
Fuck! I’m not sure if I’m up for that. Matt had tried a few times. It was a flat no fucking way! More pleasurable route, I think he said – yes, for him! I don’t have long to mood over it. I feel Jesse’s finger run up the centre of my core, generating flashes of pleasure that jet off in a million different directions around my body. I slump forward, resting my forehead on his shoulder as my upper body rolls up and down in time to my thumping heartbeat.
‘You’re drenched,’ he rumbles low in my ear as he plunges a finger into me. I immediately tighten my muscles around it. ‘You.want.me.’ he states firmly, withdrawing and spreading the wetness over my clit before surging forward again with two fingers.