Page 45 of Practice Makes Perfect
“Mmm,” she hums in agreement, her fingers tentatively coming up to rest on my shoulders.
I carefully position myself half on top of her, making sure not to crush her with my weight. Our kiss grows more intense, and I can feel her heartbeat racing beneath her ribs. When her hands start to move—hesitant at first, then with growing confidence—I groan softly against her mouth.
“Em,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to see her face. “Can I touch you a little more? Your sides, your back?”
She looks up at me with those big eyes, pupils wide with arousal. “Yes. And… I can touch you too, right?”
“Fuck yes,” I reply, perhaps too enthusiastically, but her shy smile tells me she appreciates my eagerness. “Touch me anywhere you want.”
Her warm hands slide tentatively across my chest, and I have to concentrate not to react too strongly. The sensation of her delicate fingers exploring my skin—tracing the lines of my muscles, following the trail of hair down my stomach—is almost overwhelming.
I distract myself by running my palm along her side, from the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, then back up again until I’m only very gently touching the side of her breasts. It’s like I’m dealing with a tentative animal, making no sudden movements that might spook her.
“Your skin is so soft,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her neck, even as the scent of her floods my senses. “You smell amazing.”
“That’s just my shampoo,” she says with a nervous laugh. “Nothing fancy or anything.”
“Trust me,” I say, pressing my nose into the curve of her neck, “it’s not just the shampoo.”
I continue kissing a trail down her throat, and she tilts her head back to give me better access. Her breathing quickens, and I feel the vibration of a small moan against my lips. Although I’m aware we haven’t yet gotten further than we did in myapartment, it feels like she’s a hell of a lot more comfortable and eager this time.
“Can I touch your breasts?” I ask, lifting my head to meet her gaze.
She hesitates for just a second before nodding. “Yes.”
Slowly, giving her time to change her mind and slow things down if she wants to, I move my hand up from her waist. When my palm finally cups her breast firmly, we both sigh. The weight of it fits perfectly in my hand, her nipple hardening against my palm.
“How do you like to be touched?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended. “Some women prefer gentle thumb strokes across the nipple…” I demonstrate with a feather-light touch that makes her gasp. “Others like a little more pressure, maybe even pinching.”
“The first one,” she whispers, eyes fluttering closed. “The gentle one.”
I circle her right nipple with my thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm. The sound she makes—a breathy whimper that catches in her throat—is possibly the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard, and I feel my arousal building at her reaction.
“Like that?” I ask.
“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”
Her hands grow bolder, moving from my chest down to my stomach, her fingers tracing the V of muscle that disappears beneath the sheets. I shift against her, letting her feel how hard I am without putting any pressure on her to do anything about it.
“Your body is…” she trails off, shaking her head slightly as her hands explore my shoulders, my arms, my back. “I knew you’d be fit, but this is ridiculous.”
I laugh softly. “Years of hockey.”
“Worth every early morning practice,” she says with surprising conviction. “Although I’m not the one who has to get up and do all that… sport… stuff.”
I grin against her skin as I press my lips to her collarbone. “Glad you like the teaching materials.”
“Definitely.” Her hands slide up my back, fingernails lightly scratching, sending shivers down my spine. “Though I’m still a little intimidated.”
“Don’t be.” I move my attention to her left breast, giving it the same treatment as the right. “We’re just learning each other.”
Her back arches slightly, pressing her breast more firmly into my hand. Her reaction is intoxicating—every little gasp and shiver fuels my desire. I want to memorize exactly how she responds to each touch, what makes her breathing catch, what causes that little furrow between her brows.
“You can use your mouth,” she says suddenly, surprising both of us. Her eyes widen, and a blush spreads across her cheeks. “I mean, on my… you know.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “On your breasts?”
She nods, looking simultaneously embarrassed and aroused. “Yes,” she says.
