Page 53 of Feels Like Love
I wanted to laugh, but…how did she not know? Those jeans and that ass. But it was her smile that got to me. The way she’d felt in my arms.
Were we really doing this?I didn’t want to question it. I didn’t want to consider the consequences. For once, I just wanted to allow myself to do what I wanted. I was so sick of holding back with her.
Me: When we were dancing, the feel of your body pressed to mine was insane.
Wren: I liked that too. I liked your hands on my hips, digging into my skin.
I kept going, allowing myself to imagine this was real. Just this once.
Me: The things I want to do to you…
Wren: Like what?
Oh no. She wasn’t getting off that easy. I needed her to give a little. I needed to push her to see how she’d respond. To see if she’d clam up like she claimed she did on dates, or if she’d give just as good as she got. With me, she always seemed relaxed, fun. At least, if I didn’t mention the word date. But I didn’t want to think of that right now.
Me: You tell me. What would you like?
Three dots danced on the screen. Disappeared. Then reappeared.Interesting.
Wren: You’d kiss me slow and deep, savoring me.
Fuck yeah, I would.My dick jerked to attention.
Me: I’d definitely take my time with you. Kiss every single inch of your smooth skin.
Wren: Where are we?
Good question.
I started typing the words, “the kitchen” but had a better idea and deleted it.
Me: On the couch. I’d feed you some of Asher’s pastries.
Wren: Mm. You know what I like.
I could picture it all so clearly. Wren on the couch, me holding an éclair to her mouth. The cream oozing out. And then I’d trail the filling down her chest, getting her messy. Just so I could lick it all off. I pressed a hand to my cock and groaned.
Wren: You’d settle your body over mine. Your weight pressing me into the cushions.
Me: And then I’d explore every freckle, every curve, lavishing your body with attention. First, your nipples. I want to know if they’re as pink as your lips.
Me: Tell me, baby. Are they?
She didn’t respond for a minute, and I wondered if I’d pushed too far. Expected too much. I was about to text her to apologize when an image came through.
Oh. Holy. Fuck.
I blinked a few times, expecting it to disappear. But it didn’t. There, on my screen, was an image of Wren’s tits. And god, they were perfect. I couldn’t see everything—she’d kept her lacy bra on. But I could see enough to make me hard as stone.
Wren: Was that not proper sexting etiquette or something? You told me guys were very visual.
I was so busy drooling over her that I’d forgotten to respond. At least until she’d thrown the ice bucket of reality on me with that last message.
This was practice for the guys she would date. Guys who weren’t me. I squeezed my phone so hard I was afraid it would shatter.
Shit.I ran a hand down my face.Get your head in gear.
I stared at the picture again, still in awe.
