Page 66 of The Rest is History
She’s sitting next to me, undressing herself.
It’s just me and her. Right here. Right now.
It’s one step at a time.
Let my mouth find hers.
Let my body take over.
It knows what it wants.
It knows what to do.
‘Thank you,’ I murmur as I close my lips over hers. It’s a key turning in a lock. An immediate gear shift. She kisses me back gently, her hands roaming down my temples. Along my jaw. Down my neck and across my shoulders. She’s soothing me. Reassuring me.
And while that moves me beyond words, it’s not what I want. Not now she’s reminded me how to unlock myself.
Unleash myself.
‘Come here,’ I tell her, and I hoist her up so she’s straddling me. Her dress has ridden up her thighs, exposing pale, creamy flesh, and I fucking love it. She’s only got one button undone so far, but a glance reveals the shadowy valley of her cleavage. I grab her by the backside and pull her flush against me, going instantly hard.
My hand moves to her neck, pressing her lips to mine as I explore her mouth hungrily. Entangling her tongue with mine. Soaking up the wet warmth of her mouth. The hint of alcohol on her tongue. As I kiss her, I search out those buttons and undo them with deadly focus. I get them undone as far as her waist, where they stop. The top half of her dress hangs loose and I can get my hand inside, and Jesus Christ. The swell of her breast in its lace cup. The weight of it in my hand.
It’s fucking perfect.
My other hand releases her neck and finds its way under her skirt, up her thigh till it encounters the smooth, peachy flesh of her ass. For a blissful moment, I think she’s not wearing underwear, but then I find a scrap of lace.
Another sexy little thong. I can work with that.
She’s got the message that she no longer needs to treat me with kid gloves. She pushes down on top of me, her hands in my hair and wrestling with the buttons of my shirt. Her hair is a blessed curtain, blocking out everything that’s not her.
She’s surrounding me. Consuming me. Eradicating every problem on this earth and inside my brain and leaving only immediacy. Sensation.
And blind need.
I slip the straps of her dress down her shoulders and the entire thing pools around her waist.
Fuck me.
Her breasts are practically in my face, so luscious in their cream lace. So perfect. I dip my head and brush my lipsreverently across their swells. Christ, this woman’s skin does things to my heart. And my cock. I run my fingertips over her nipples and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, throwing her head back so I’m met with an irresistible sweep of skin. My mouth moves upwards to worship her neck with soft kisses.
‘I won’t bite,’ I murmur against her skin, and she giggles.
She sits and lets me appreciate her for a few moments. Lets me learn the secrets I’ve wondered about for so long. How her breasts feel under my mouth. The way my hands fit the curve of her waist. The perfection that is the groove of her spine.
Then she’s back to unbuttoning my shirt until she has it hanging open, her hands busy smoothing over my pecs. My abs. Her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
‘Charlie.’
I look up sharply from where I’ve been kissing along the line left by her bra strap when I slid it over her shoulder.
She smiles at me. ‘I have a foolproof way of getting you to chill out.’
‘Your magical breasts are doing that all by themselves.’
‘This way is better.’ She pauses. ‘It involves my mouth, yourdick, and one hell of an overdue orgasm for you.’
My dick jolts like a dog who’s recognised its own name.
