Page 61 of Whirlwind
“It was more than I expected,” she says, demure as she looks up through her lashes. I offer my hand and help her to her feet.
“Was it okay?”
“It was everything,” I tell her. “You are everything.”
Palming her cheek, I kiss her, not caring that she tastes like me. It only adds to the heat between us.
“Can we still have naked time?”
“Whatever you want, Kit. Whatever you need.”
I duck into the bathroom to dampen a washcloth. When I return, she’s still bare-breasted, unconcerned about the mess. Of all the things that make her squeamish, this isn’t one.
“Will you undress me? I want you to do it,” she says, her voice trembling ever so slightly.
I take my time—hands on her waist, then her hips, fingers playing along the waistband of her pants before I finally unfasten them. I ease them down a couple of inches at a time, murmuring her name and soft affirmations.
“Anything you want me to do, Kit, just tell me.”
“Like my own personal sex slave?” she asks with a grin.
“Exactly like that.” And I mean it. She could ask me for the vilest thing and I’d comply.
When her pants hit her ankles, she steps out and covers herself with her hands. Plain black cotton—practical, like her.
“I don’t shave it,” she says.
“Good.”
“Really?”
“Really, Kit. I want a woman.Thiswoman.”
“But all the women in porn…”
“Are there for the pleasure of creepy-ass men who can’t get women in the real world,” I cut in.
She grins.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says with a shake of her head. “You’re just cute.”
“Cute?”
“Sweet,” she amends. “Handsome, gentle, sexy, and you have the best cock I’ve ever seen.”
“How many cocks have you seen, Kit?” I tease, brushing my nose against hers.
“Enough,” she whispers. “I watch a lot of pornography.”
Blood surges south at the thought of her touching herself to other people fucking.
“I’m dying to get my hands on you right now.”
“Then, put your hands on me, Tyson.”
She pushes her underwear past her hips and kicks them aside. I start at her chin, trailing my fingers down her throat, over the swell of her breast, across the flat of her stomach. Her skin pebbles; her muscles twitch. She doesn’t pull away. She touches me, too, mirroring my movements, exploring, familiarizing herself with me.
