Most especially when she suckles my bottom lip, thrusts her tongue into my mouth fearlessly, and balls my t-shirt into her fists. Kissing Esme isn’t just with our mouths. It’s all the other points where we’re connected, and since she’s pressed right up against me and my arms are wrapped around her, we’re connected everywhere. Even on the inside, I feel like we have connection points. No, not in that way, perv. We’re still in our clothes here.
Although Esme clearly wants to rectify that. She tugs at my shirt like she wants to rip it in half, but it’s stretchy, and there’s no way the fabric is down for that, so I break the kiss and tug it over my head. I throw it across the kitchen, but before I can go in for another mind-blowing, tongue-tangling, ball-busting kiss, Esme lets out a rather feminine, soft sigh.
“Wow,” she breathes. She’s looking at me. Or, more specifically, at my chest. “It’s too bad we used up all the whipped cream. I would have liked to lick it off you. How the heck are you so toned?”
“Umm, the gym? Genetics? Healthy eating?”
“J Murphy, all those things are seriously doing wonders for you.”
I can literally feel myself blushing. My cock might even be blushing, and my balls are blushing too—a horrible shade of blue. I don’t really think I’m that toned. I mean, I don’t look like a bodybuilder or anything. I’d say I’m more healthy and fit than I am muscled, but Esme’s looking at me like I just greased myself up for a roomful of mirrors.
“You could taste me without the whipped cream.” I’m kidding, but Esme steps closer, grips my shoulders, and peppers scorching kisses along my chest, right above my pecs. She continues kissing me, trailing her lips and tongue over and down until she finds my nipple.
I didn’t realize male nipples—okay, my nipples—could be so erogenous, but erogenous they are. My whole body lights up with an internal spark shower like it’s freaking Christmas, and it’s as if I’m the tree decked out to blow all the breakers in the house. My nipple puckers in Esme’s warm mouth as she runs her tongue over the tight bead, making my knees go weak. My balls draw up, my cock pounds, and I marvel at how in twenty seconds, Esme’s turned me into a gooey pile.
I think this is supposed to be happening the other way around, but I’m perfectly fine with the fact that it’s not, especially when Esme continues to taste me with her tongue and lips. She slides her small hands down my chest and grips my sides as she licks my abs. She swirls her tongue around my belly button and…holy bananas, why does it feel so good?
“You should get these off,” she whispers throatily, tugging at my jeans.
My hands move to comply, but I have trouble with the button and zipper. Thankfully, she helps. I haphazardly stumble out of my jeans, which I usually have zero problems getting on and off because they’re one of my favorite pairs that have been worn to death.
Esme laughs when she sees my underwear. “Monkeys and bananas?” She raises a brow. “Really?”
“They’re comfortable, okay? They were sold out of the other patterns, so I had to take what was left.”
“Which was?”
“These, a pair with strawberries, and then another with roses on them.”
She giggles.
“You should feel them. They’re silky. And they breathe.”
Her giggle turns into a laugh, and I can feel myself turning a shade of red that would rival the ripest cherry or the most incandescent red light bulb. “Is that an invitation?”
I don’t even have to respond because she falls to her knees in front of me, making me groan. I know we’re in her kitchen, but all I can think about is how she’s currently at eye level with my balls, and my junk is really psyched about that, even before she runs her fingers down the side of my thigh.
“Oooh. They are silky.”
“Well, yeah. I wouldn’t wrap my balls in burlap.”
“Obviously.” She looks up at me and rolls her eyes. “But what’s wrong with cotton?”
“This breathes. No one wants swass and swalls.”
“Dear lord,” she mutters. “I can’t believe you just went there.”
“Err, sorry. That’s not very sexy.”
“It’s alright.” She leans in and then freaking tastes me with my tight-fitting, silky boxer briefs still on, and I’m done.
My cock is straining so hard at the fabric that it’s a testament to how well the underwear is made since it doesn’t tear clean in half. My body jerks like someone just roundhouse-kicked me from the back.
“Esme,” I pant. “I…I don’t know about that. I’m…well…slightly, maybe, a little bit too enthusiastic about this.”
She raises her head, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Oh. I…oh. I see. I…can I touch you then?”