Page 80 of Somewhere Along The Line
James collapses onto me with a whine, his body enveloping me on all sides. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, a blanket apology muffled by his face in my shirt.
“Don’t be sorry your dad loves me,” I joke, before replacing the line with the obvious answer. “Don’t be sorry your dad loves you.”
He nods, releasing an exhale before straightening and pulling me off the bar stool with a spin so we’re chest to chest.
“Can we start over?” he asks, cautiously optimistic that this brief interruption hasn’t killed the mood.
“That’s the whole point of today, James,” I reply. “Yes, we can start over.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before I’m staring at his ass, my body flung over his shoulder as he carries me toward what must be his bedroom. He flops me down on his bed, carefully but not delicately. He’s not trying to be gentle at this point.
His covers are ideal for burrowing, and while I am almost positive James is a “no street clothes in the bed” kind of guy, I don’t care. Given how he’s looking at me curled up in his sheets, I don’t think he cares either. Not today.
“Are you going to join me or what?” He seemedveryeager to move into action a minute ago.
“I will.” He smiles. “After I soak in the sight of you in my bed. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about you here? How our night together in the living room replayed in my mind as I lay in this bed, wishing you were next to me, and under me, and on top of me? I built a lifetime’s worth of fantasies involving you in this room. It’s going to take me a minute to choose where I want to start.”
James strips off the top of his white Elvis jumpsuit, his chest firm, and I’d love to start with my hands on his pecs if he’ll let me. I follow his lead and remove my shirt, keeping on a lace bralette that is uncharacteristically sexy for a workday. Good thing I never went to work today.
“Take off the bottom half, too,” I demand, removing my skirt and throwing it over the side of the bed. My underwear doesn’t match the bra but it’s not the worst pair I own, all things considered.
James pushes the pants down to his ankles, stepping his feet out one at a time until he’s standing in a pair of boxer briefs. The sight of him sends a rush through my core. I’m wet just looking at him; the anticipation of his body on mine makes me swell.
“You’re not in charge here, Pipes.” James slides into bed and rolls on his side to face me, his palm finding the softness of my stomach and resting there. “Let me take care of you.”
He nuzzles his face to mine and kisses me slowly, so slow that the building ache between my legs becomes unbearable.
“James,” I beg, arching up, trying to meet his hand or somehow inch it lower.
“I’m going to give you what you need, Sweet P. Trust me.” I nod, knowing he’ll come through but eager for reliefnow.
James positions himself over me until he’s eye-level with my breasts, taking one in his hand and sweeping his thumb over the nipple while his mouth sucks at the other, pulling at the peak through the sheer fabric of my bra. The stimulation makes me shudder—the friction of his touch and the lace rubbing against my sensitive skin feels heavenly.
“James, yes, that feels so good.Youare so good.” I’ve never felt this much pleasure without any sort of stimulation below the belt. I wonder if I could come just like this, with James sucking and pulling at my nipples, whispering how sweet I taste and how much he loves this.
We’re not even naked yet.
He pauses for a moment to sit on his heels, nudging the bralette up my body and pulling it carefully over my head before flinging it to the floor. I am desperate for his bare chest to meet mine, frustrated by his resistance as I try to pull him down.
Instead, he hovers, trailing a line of kisses from my mouth to my collarbone, to the underside of my breasts, to my belly button, and then lower.
When he reaches the edge of my panties, he stops, grazing his lips lightly before pulling the top of the fabric between his teeth with a tug. I want them goneNOW. Five minutes ago would have been better. I try to shimmy my legs to help the effort, but James is no longer tugging.
He glances up at me with searching eyes—they match the wildness burning in mine.
“Can I kiss you here?” He drops his mouth to the fabric between my legs, right where I want him most, and I jolt. I’m already so sensitive. There will be a substantial disconnect between what I want and what I can take.
“Do you want to kiss me there? You don’t have to,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair as he hovers over me, waiting for permission. Oral sex is a no-go for some folks, and I don’t want him to feel compelled for my sake.
“I want to kiss youeverywhere, P. I want to know you inside and out. I want to touch you and taste you and hear you moan and watch your thighs shake and go limp when you come. I want to spend the rest of the day learning every possible way I can make you break apart and spend all of tonight putting you back together. So, yes, please, let me kiss you here.”
This must be what it feels like to be worshipped.
“Yes. James, yes.” My body is buzzing with anticipation and desperate for his touch.
He grabs the top of my panties and drags them down to my ankles, slipping them over each foot before they join the pile next to the bed. James stops to take in the sight of me, his gaze traveling up and down my body, lingering at my face, my breasts, my stomach, and lower.
He’s cataloging every part of me, taking mental pictures for a growing gallery of all the pieces he desires. I feel certain he captures every single one. My heart wants to burst.
