Page 94 of Bartholomew
“I love how expressive your face is, especially when you are passionate about something. Oh, fuck me. Don’t even get me started on your angry face. You’re so damn expressive I nearly lose myself in your mannerisms and forget all about our bickering.” My fingers trailed over the tops of her shoulders, tickling a little lower onto the line of her collarbone.
“I love your smile when you have just woken up in the morning. That first moment that you become fully aware and your eyes focus on me. That smile you give me, mercy, Delilah. It floors me. It sends my stomach flip-flopping and sets a positive tone to my entire day.” I kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror’s reflection.
“Truly?” she asked, that look of unadulterated hope blooming on her face, ten times more beautiful than the blush she so often bore.
“I’ve never spoken truer words, my love. Every word I speak here is true. Never doubt that. Let’s continue,” I muttered against her skin. Christ, I couldn’t keep my lips off her, couldn’t keep my hands off of her.
I let my hands trail lower, past her collarbone to where the towel was twisted and affixed at her breasts, holding the terrycloth piece firm around her body. Holding that secure bunched material, my eyes met hers.
“Ready?” I asked, waiting for her nod before tugging the fabric and letting it fall to the floor, baring her entire form to me, to us, there in the mirror. “Eyes open, Delilah,” I gently reminded.
“Look at your incredible body. You are womanhood personified,” I stated in pure awe of her.
“I’m lumps and bumps,” she derided.
“Rule number one.” My tone, firm and commanding, had her eyes snapping back up to mine in the mirror. “Try again.”
“I am curvy,” she tried again. I nodded my head, urging her to continue. My lips moved over the top of her spine, my tongue flicking at the skin there, heavily perfumed from the bath salts we had used in the tub only moments ago. She smelled of sweet vanilla and something uniquely her. Vanilla and sunshine. No, not sunshine. It was darker than that, deeper. Dusk. Vanilla and dusk. My little firefly.
“My curves fit your hands well,” she sighed, my kisses and touches affecting her.
“Yes, they fucking do,” I agreed whole-heartedly. My hands moved down over the delicate curves of her body, down to her waist and over her hips, tracing ever so slowly.
“My breasts are full and make me feel like a woman,” she groaned as my tongue continued to taste down the column of her spine. “That feels so good, Ollie.” The way she breathed my name had my cock hardening, rising in my boxer briefs.
My hands moved around to her front, beneath her arms, where I could cup the full volume of her breasts.
“You are fucking exquisite, Delilah,” I spoke gruffly against her skin. “These full breasts make me want to cup them and hold their weight all the time. I want to bury my face in them and breathe in your sweet scent.”
“Ollie,” she groaned, her eyes fluttering shut as my fingers found her nipples.
“Eyes open, Delilah,” I reminded, unable to keep the smirk from my face as she gasped, and her eyes popped wide open once more. That alluring blush creeping up over her cheekbones. “And these perfect, pink nipples… fuck, they call to me. They make me hunger for your taste.”
“Oh God,” she whimpered as my fingers plucked and tugged at the hardened tips.
“Does that feel good, love?” I whispered low in her ear.
“So good. It’s hard to keep my eyes open,” she admitted, softly chuckling under her breath. That breath that hitched when I twisted each nipple simultaneously. “Oh, fuck!” she cried out so goddamn beautifully.
“Try harder,” I teased, nipping at her earlobe.
“Ollie,” she gasped as my teeth connected.
“I love the way your breasts fill my hands, how you arch into me when I do this.” My fingers twisted those pebbled tips again, harder this time, until she arched her back, her ass connecting perfectly with my rock-hard cock. I ground against her curves, seeking the friction, the connection I craved. I could feel the wet spot my pre-cum left in my boxers.
“Do you feel that, love? Do you feel how I’m already dripping for you?” My words spurred her on, her sighs becoming gasps. Those gasps becoming groans of need. “My God, your sounds turn me on like none other.”
“Your words set me on fire.” Fucking hell, this woman was a temptress, and I wanted to drown in her seductive sin.
Turning away from her, I tugged the chaise closer until it sat just in front of the mirror.
“Sit,” I commanded. This wasn’t a scene, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t in charge of what was happening. I wasn’t Daddy, but I was still in charge.
She sat perched on the edge of the chaise, leaving me room to sit behind her. Running my hands back up the curves of her waist, her ribcage and higher, I guided her arms up above her head.
“Clasp your hands behind my neck,” I whispered, pressing our bodies together until nothing separated us except my stupid fucking boxer briefs. Why hadn’t I torn them off when I had the moment? Oh, well.
Her hands moved behind my head, her fingers twining into my short, shorn hair.
