Page 63 of I Almost Do

She nods eagerly.

I sit up and take off my shirt. Then I stand up and walk to the side of the bed. Running my hands down her smooth, bare leg, I touch her from her thigh to her ankle.

When I lift her right foot, she gives me that smile I know and love so well. The one that quirks up on only one side of her face and says“Now, what are you up to, James Mellinger?”

Then I give her purple-polished toes a fat, noisy kiss.

She squeals in laughter and jerks her foot back.

So I do the other leg. And I kiss those toes, too, just to watch her giggle and see the nervous tension leave her clenching hands.

I tug gently at the hemline of her tank top. "Do you think you should take this off? Or do you want to stay wrapped up like a pretty little package? There's no wrong answer," I say quietly, sitting on the bed beside her. "If you aren't comfortable…."

She sits up and pulls the tank over her head in a wild rush, tossing it to the floor. "I'm comfortable," she says with a cheeky grin.

I fight a smile, then swallow at the view. There are my favorite freckles, perched just above her rosy nipples. Damn, she's beautiful.

"Are your breasts sensitive? Did you like it when I touched them? When I licked them?" I know she did. She practically came out of her skin that night. But I want her to remember.

Clarissa shivers, though it's not even a little cold. Red flags burn across her cheeks, but she doesn't look embarrassed. She looks turned on as hell. "Yes," she whispers.

"Lie back and give me your hand, sweet girl," I say.

She reclines against the pillows and holds out her hand as if I'm about to shake it. And I'm suddenly reminded how innocent she is.

She's been deliberately tormenting me for months with innuendos, flirting, kisses, trailing fingers, and, yes, near nudity.

I admit, at first, I wasn't sure if the teasing was on purpose. But it became obvious pretty fast. She loves getting a reaction out of me and watching me fight the need to touch her. And I love it too. I live for it.

Because she's become so adept at teasing me, it's easy to forget that the only sexual experience she has happened with me. And we haven't done much, though what we have done feels world-shattering to me.

When she sits across from me in damp panties and pretends to want to chat about how wet the weather is, it's hard to remember my wife is a virgin. Until she's lying here in bed and holds her shaking hand out to me like I'm about to introduce myself.

The two of us could just go at it and masturbate beside each other. But if this moment is going to carry the weight it should, she deserves more. And God knows I want to give it. As long as I keep my cock to myself, it's safe to do that for her.

I draw her fingers up and into my mouth, sucking the first two. First one, then the other, swirling my tongue over the digits.

She gasps at the sensation, a surprised, breathy "Oh" falling from her lips.

"Close your eyes. Don't think about coming. I just want you to relax and let yourself feel good."

She huffs out a laugh, but she closes her eyes, and I guide her hand back to her breast, placing her own wet fingers over the nipple.

"When I'm not here, you can suck your own fingers," I say quietly. "It feels nice when it's wet, doesn't it?"

She makes a tiny sound. Her thighs clench together.

"Play a little, baby girl. Make yourself feel good."

Her fingers pinch and swirl.

"Mmmm. That's nice. I'll remember you like that when it's my turn."

She shudders at my words. And I think it's my voice as much as her own touch that's driving her up. Every sound—every squirming reaction—is happening at the sound of my words.

I reach for her other hand and pull it up to her poor neglected breast. "Don't leave this one out. Feel the weight? Feel how satiny soft your skin is? Your breasts are gorgeous. You have the prettiest pink nipples."

She squeezes and arches her back. "James…."

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