Page 161 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
No bra. Just soft skin—and there was a stunning, simple reality in her nakedness. The perfect curve of her breasts, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t look self-conscious at all; in fact, she grinned down at me.
I reached for her, hands shaky and unsure, cupping her breasts and marveling at the feel of them in my hands, fitting perfectly into my palms. She kissed me as I did so, and my hands slipped to her sides as her bare chest pressed against mine, and I gasped at the feeling.
The sensation was almost overwhelming—the feel of her soft skin against mine, nipples brushing my own as she rocked into me, her hip bone pressing against me. That sparking heat building low in my stomach seemed only to intensify from the contact. She shifted us slightly, rebalancing, and ground her thigh into me, just enough pressure to do something.
A half moan, half breathless sound left my lips, and when her own found my throat again, she whispered, “You like that?”
“Yes,” I whimpered, needing more. More of whatever she could give me.
Her hands moved to the waistband of my pajama bottoms, tugging gently, as if reminding me they were still on. That we could go further if I wanted to. I lifted my hips of my own accord, watching as she hooked her fingers into the material, dragging them—along with my panties—down my thighs, down my legs, and stuffing them at the end of the bed.
I flushed, naked before her, exposed. But she only smiled at me, kneeling between my thighs, and my eyes dropped to her chest, to the perfect swells of her breasts. I wondered what it would be like to kiss them—to lick the skin of her nipples as she had done to mine.
How would she taste?
How would it feel?
She came back to hover over me, her lips moving to the spot just below my ear, where she bit gently. I gasped again, louder this time, as if she had just short-circuited my brain. I could feel how wet I was now, my body pulsing around an empty ache, demanding more than I was getting.
“You’re so beautiful, Ellis,” Dove murmured into my ear.
I didn’t have a chance to respond—words catching in my throat—as her fingers grazed the inside of my thigh, all sound and thought in my mind stalling. She kissed my neck once more before moving her lips back to mine, just as her hand slid firmly between us. I let out a groan and a gasp into her mouth as her fingers gently brushed over the heat between my legs.
It was as pleasurable as it was torturous.
“Still okay?” she breathed into my ear, the air hot against my skin, her fingers gliding along me languidly.
I nodded quickly, my mind a mess, all my focus on the movement of her fingers, feeling her spread my wetness before her touch landed on that growing center of need. She swirled her fingers around it once, then twice, and my hips bucked as I clutched at her.
Dove kissed me again, hotly and deeply, her tongue grazing against my own as her hand moved, dancing around that ball of need, but she moved so slowly and gently it was as if she were getting to know me, taking note of my reactions to everything she did.
My legs had fallen open for her, and I was unashamed when she pulled back from my mouth just slightly. I let my hands ride up her sides, noting the gooseflesh that appeared on her skin as I did so.
“Do you want more?” she asked huskily as my hands came to rest at her ribs.
I nodded, my hand sliding to the nape of her neck, pulling her mouth back to mine. As our lips met, I felt her slip a finger inside me, her thumb remaining on that needy center of nerves, and I moaned softly at the sensation. My hands glided instinctively to her breasts, cupping the flesh and marveling at the feel of them in my palms.
She was so soft.
So beautiful.
So perfect.
Dove let out a soft gasp at the feel of my hands on her, but they remained there for only a moment before she moved, dragging her body down mine. Her mouth found my right nipple, tugging the flesh into her mouth, her tongue flicking over the bud as her finger moved within me, a second one joining the first.
“Oh, God,” I gasped, my hips rocking instinctively against her hand, finding the rhythm she had set for us, her thumb moving against me as her fingers continued their torturous movements. It was an overload of sensation, and I could feel myself climbing, feel her lips moving across my chest as she gave the same attention to my other breast.
My back arched, my nipple pressing further into her mouth, and she groaned softly, her hand quickening. My own hands fisted into the blankets beneath us, and I could feel those small promised fissures of unraveling. Everything felt so good, so right.
Dove felt so right.
Her lips left my chest, and she surrounded me as she moved her mouth to my ear, her fingers curling deliciously inside me as she applied just a little more pressure with her thumb. Her teeth raked along the skin of my ear, and I trembled at the overwhelming onslaught of sensation rising inside me.
“Let go, Ellis,” Dove murmured into my ear, her voice a little ragged. “Come for me.”
It hit me as if I’d been slammed by a tidal wave—some ecstatic dam breaking—as an unbelievable amount of pleasure coursed through me. I cried out and clutched at Dove, holding her to me as she drew out my orgasm—her fingers still moving, her thumb still circling—as I bucked and ground against her, limbs trembling as I rode out every last wave until the final ebb and flow faded.
I blinked my eyes open in a daze as Dove’s fingers slid from me. She pulled back only slightly to look at me, an almost satisfied grin on her face. I felt wrung out—physically and emotionally—my body trembling, a gentle pulsing of aftershocks between my legs that had my cheeks flushing.
