Page 82 of Faking All the Way
I catch her against me, her momentum sending us both stumbling until I’m half-lying on the floor with her on top of me, wrapping paper crinkling and rustling beneath us. She feels so fucking good, and her excitement is infectious as she beams down at me.
She kisses me, hard and enthusiastic, her hands coming up to cup my face. It’s a congratulatory kiss, a celebration, but the moment my hands find her waist, caressing the full curves of her body, something shifts. The innocent enthusiasm melts into something hotter and hungrier.
The kiss deepens. Her lips part against mine, and when I tighten my hold on her hips, she makes a small sound that goes straight to my cock, making me hard in seconds.
This is how it always is with her—one touch, one kiss, and I’m lost. All my control, all my careful boundaries, evaporate like they never existed.
My fingers slide up her back, finding the hem of the soft sweater she’s wearing. I’ve been wanting to get my hands underneath it all afternoon, wanting to feel the warm silk of her skin, to map every curve and dip of her body with my palms.
“Want to celebrate with me, bright eyes?” I murmur against her lips, already working the sweater up.
“God, yes.” She arches into my touch, pressing herself closer. “We definitely need to celebrate.”
I take advantage of the movement to tug her sweater over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple blue bra that makes my mouth water. Nothing fancy, nothing elaborate, but I know the fabric smells like her and is warm from her skin, and that makes it hotter than any sexy lingerie could ever be.
“I’ve been thinking about getting you naked all day,” I tell her, unclasping the bra and allowing her breasts to spill free. “Couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Every time I looked at you, all I could think about was getting my hands on you.”
Her response is to reach for the hem of my shirt, pulling it off with eager hands. When her palms flatten against my chest, tracing the lines of muscle and the faint scars from years of hockey, I groan at the contact. Her touch is both soft and searching, like she can’t get enough either.
“What do you want?” I ask, my lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“Everything,” she breathes. “I wanteverything.”
Fuck. This woman.
I tug off her pants and mine, then roll us over until she’s beneath me, pinned between my body and the scattered wrapping paper. Something red catches my attention in my periphery, and I glance over to see a piece of thick satin ribbon lying on the floor near Kat’s head.
An idea flashes through my head, making my cock throb.
Sitting back on my haunches, I reach for the ribbon, testing its strength between my hands. It’s soft but sturdy, which is perfect for what I have in mind.
“Do you trust me, bright eyes?” I ask, shifting my focus back to Kat.
Her eyes are dark when she looks up at me, pupils blown wide. She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” I help her up onto her knees so that we’re facing each other. “Because I want to tie you up.”
She swallows and nods. Reaching around her, I bring her wrists together behind her back, then wrap the ribbon around them a few times before tying it into a bow. The bindings aren’t tight enough to hurt or cut off circulation, but they’re secure enough to keep her exactly where I want her.
“You look perfect like this.” My hands trace down her arms to her shoulders, savoring the way she shivers under my touch. “Wrapped up like the best present I’ve ever gotten.”
She moans, tugging slightly at the restraints, testing them. Her back arches a little, pressing her breasts toward me in invitation.
“What was that about wanting everything?” I trail my fingers down her sides, watching goosebumps rise on her skin.
“Asher, please.” Her voice breaks on my name. “I need?—”
“Tell me.” I stop my exploration, waiting. I always want to hear her say it, want her to voice exactly what she needs.
“I need your mouth on me. I need your cock inside me. I need everything you’ll give me.”
The raw honesty in her voice, the fact that she speaks with no hesitation, makes my cock throb against the fabric of my boxers.
I slide her panties down, working them off her legs as she lifts her knees a little to help me. Then I position her on her knees with her upper body pressed against the coffee table, the wrapped presents scattered around us, forgotten for now. Her bound hands rest on her lower back, and she looks back at me over her shoulder with eyes hooded with arousal.
“God, you’re such a fucking sight,” I groan. “I could stare at you like this for hours. But I’d rather taste you.”
With that, I drop to my knees behind her and bury my face between her thighs. She cries out as my tongue finds her pussy, and the sound echoes through the room, breathy and desperate. Her taste is fucking addictive, and I work her pussy from this new angle with my tongue, alternating between gentle licks and harder pressure that makes her squirm against me.
