“I want to see you,” he says against my mouth. “Can I take this off? Can I see you, sweet Stella?”
Heat rolls over me waves. “Yes. Yes.”
Our fingers tangle, mine trembling with impatience, as we pull the damn, suffocating shirt off together. It doesn’t cool me down. I burn hotter as John’s gaze moves over my torso, his expression rapt. “So pretty, Button.”
I’m wearing a simple white bra, but under his stare, I feel as beautiful and delicate as spun sugar. His wide hands slide up my ribs, and I arch my back, thrusting my breasts out. He sits up, arms wrapping around me, and presses a tender kiss to the swell of my breasts. “Every night, I’ve dreamed of this. Of you.”
His skin is hot and damp under my palms, and I run them over every inch I can.
The blunt tips of his fingers trace the clasp of my bra. “This too?” he asks.
“Yes. Please, John.” My breasts are swollen, my nipples tender and achy. I need his touch. “Please.”
“Anything,” he says. “Anything you need.”
The bra slips away. He makes a sound deep in his throat. “Oh, hell. Freckles. You’re killing me.” He goes about kissing each one, his tongue touching them like they’re candy. When he finally gently laps my nipple, I groan, tilting my head back.
His hot mouth closes over me and pulls with rhythmic tugs. The tip of his tongue flicks the swollen tip, and it’s too much and not enough, and I curl myself over him, my arms around his neck, my breast at his mouth. I’m riding his cock, dry humping him as though we’re horny teens in a backseat.
John releases my nipple with a wet pop. I shudder, wanting him to return.
“Touch me,” he says, moving his lips along my skin, seeking out my other breast. “Please. Touch me.”
His belly is tight and smooth. I follow the ridge down the center of his abs. He grunts, his mouth full of me. I fumble with the button of his jeans, and then he’s in my hand, hot and hard and substantial. I stroke that silken heat, my thumb running over the weeping crown, and he shudders.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck. More, Stella. Give me more.”
His mouth finds mine. There’s no more talk, just soft whispers of want and approval, needy whimpers, and groans for more. Our kisses are a mess, frantic, wet, deep. Exchanges of breath. Shaking exhales. I’m jacking his cock as he tweaks my nipples, and it’s so hot and good. I’m going to come and he hasn’t even touched my clit.
“John …” I rock against him, keening.
“I know,” he rasps, “I know.”
I feel it rising, hot, cold, making me tremble. My body tenses at the precipice.
A loud buzz cuts through the air. We both jump at the sound. Hot on its heels, another buzz rings out.
My forehead rests against his. “Who is that?”
“Shit.” John swallows, moves his swollen lips over mine. “Ignore it.”
Whoever it is starts pounding on the door.
“Oy!” a deep male voice shouts. “Get your ass in gear and open the door.”
Panting, we both turn our heads toward the door in question.
John’s hands are still on my breasts, and I feel him tense before he slides them down to my hips. “Fucking cockblockers.”
I husk out a laugh and slump against his warm chest. I’m still a little dizzy and a whole lot breathless. John presses his lips to the top of my head. “It’s the guys,” he says into my damp hair. “They invited themselves over for dinner. I forgot.”
“Wonder why,” I murmur, and it’s his turn to laugh weakly.
“Fuck,” he groans, long and pained. But it looks like that isn’t going to be happening anytime soon. “Shit, shit, shit.” John breathes slowly out through his nose in a clear effort to calm himself.
I empathize. I’m too worked up, my sex is pulsing, wet, and left wanting. A shudder wracks through me, and John gives me a reproachful look, his fingers gripping my hips a little tighter. “Be still,” he warns, “or I’m going to fuck you with them listening on.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I ask, eyeing the cute little disk of his hardened nipple. I want to give it a gentle bite before licking away the sting. “Because I’m willing to be subjected.” But despite my bravado, and his pained groan, I ease off him. Goddamn, his cock looks good, all thick and dark with lust. It jerks in my direction, as if beckoning me back. And I’m tempted. So very tempted.
The door buzzes again with a relentless insistence.
“I’m coming, all right?” John shouts, his voice a little broken.
“Not in the way I’d hoped,” I mutter.
He husks out a weak laugh, running a hand through his hair. Sweat slicks his taut chest and abs. “Laugh it up, chuckles.”