Page 17 of Married to Number 22
I slide my hand along her side, dragging the material of her shirt up along with it, exposing delicate skin and curves I need to get my mouth on.
I lean back onto my heels, tugging her up with me.
“What are you?—”
But I don’t let her finish the question, just drag the material over her head and toss it to the side.
“Christ,” I mutter. “Where’d you get those, Luns?”
Her mouth quirks, but she’s breathing as heavily as I am—something that’s great viewing as far as I’m concerned, those plump mounds nearly toppling out of the lacy edge of her bra with each rapid inhalation and exhalation. “I kind of grew up,” she says. “Something that seems to be catching, big shot.” A hand drifting down my front, then stopping, fingertips tappingoh so closeto the tip of my cock.
I chuckle softly, take one more second to soak in the gorgeous view of Luna.
Then I reach a hand around behind her, undoing the clasps of her bra.
We both groan when her tits are freed, then I do again when I yank the material down her arms, toss it in the direction of her shirt.
God, her breasts are glorious, bouncing slightly, the pink tips hard and demanding that I suck.
“Hey—!”
A slightly outraged cry because I’ve pushed her shoulders, sending her toppling to her back, those tits bouncing all over again.
But it doesn’t last long.
Instead, her outrage turns into a cry of pleasure as I bend and take one hard bud into my mouth, suckling deeply, loving the sound of her calling out my name, loving how her moans fill the air, how her body arches beneath mine.
I cup her breast, positioning it so I can pay proper homage to that beautiful nipple, then massage her other tit, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger.
“Aiden!” she cries, but I don’t stop, just kiss my way over to her other side, tasting and sucking, licking and nibbling. The scent of her, the feel of her, thesoundof her—it’s intoxicating. “I need—” Her head thrashes on the pillow, hips bucking against mine, and as much as I want to stay right where I am, we both need more.
Releasing her breast, I move down, kissing my way over her torso, making my way to the waistband of her sweats and shoving the bedspread off in the process.
I drag them down, whip them off her legs, tossing them in the direction of her shirt and bra.
“This is underwear?” I ask softly, tracing my finger over the lacy scrap of fabric that’s masquerading as panties.
“You like them,” she pants. “So…mission accomplished.”
Grinning, I draw them along lush thighs, down shapely calves, off feet with pink-painted toenails.
Then I place one hand on each of her legs and push them wide.
“Fuck,” I growl at the sight of all that slick, plump pink.
Her pelvis tilts, hips arching, silently begging for my mouth.
So, I give it to her—trailing my tongue through her folds, arrowing in on her clit, discovering with just a few short strokes exactly what she likes.
And then repeating that while I discoverotherthings she likes.
A finger pressing deep, curling up, matching the slow licks. Another joining in, fucking her steadily in time to the flick of my tongue. The flat of my tongue circling her clit. A nip to soft, wet flesh?—
“Aiden!” she shouts, entire body bucking.
Okay then.
She likes teeth.
