Her little punch of breath when she grinds into me, the way her fingers thread through my hair, the heat of her eyes when they open, the softness of her lips.
This is so much better.
I kiss her like I’m drowning, and maybe I am. I try to hold it back, to reel my hands in, but they shove beneath her sweater and run over the soft, warm skin of her back instead. Vandy has the perfect skin there, a long swath of girl-soft smoothness that tempts my fingertips to go higher, lower. She arches her back in response, making a quiet sound into my mouth as she rocks against me.
I freeze when she pulls away, worrying that I’ve gone too far. But in one swift movement, she peels off the sweater. She sits before me, chest heaving, eyes burning into mine, and I gently finger the strap of her bra. She wears these basic little white things and holy fuck, they’re hot as hell. It’s insane, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen her topless. It isn’t even the second time. But it’s the first time I’ve seen it like this, her red flush blooming down the swell of her cleavage, inviting me. She grinds down on me, a move that has to be pure instinct, and I carefully close my palms over her tits, testing.
“Yeah?” I ask, sweeping my thumbs over them. They fit perfectly in my hands—not too big, not too little, just fucking right.
Her eyes fall closed and she exhales, sighing against my touch. “Yes.”
That’s all I need to push the fabric aside to thumb her hard, pebbled nipples. Her mouth parts on a breathy little gasp when I do. Like a button, every time I touch her, she grinds down harder on me. So responsive that it’s driving my hips up, meeting hers in a needy thrust. The action makes her face screw up, like it hurts, but she does it again and again. I move a hand to her thigh and sweep it up, raising her skirt. I want to let her take the lead, but Jesus. She’s driving me crazy.
“Does that feel good?” I ask, because I don’t want to hurt her. Never again.
She nods, eyes clenched tight.
I touch her chin and force her face to mine. “Does it feel good, V? I need to know.”
Slowly, her eyes open, blue blazing back at me. Her words escape in a frantic rush, “It feels so good.”
“That’s what I want,” I tell her, and I can barely recognize the low octave of my own voice. “I just want you to feel good.”
I plant a hand on both her hips and drag her against me. I’d give anything to shuck these jeans and coax her into riding me bare and hard. I bet she’s wet for me, and the thought alone is enough to make my balls tighten. But she’s not there yet. We’re not there yet. Slow, steady. I am not fucking this up.
But I can make her feel good, and I focus every ounce of energy I have on it. I push the cup of her bra aside and take her into my mouth, licking and sucking on her peaked nipple. She arches into it, fingers threading into my hair and holding me there, no question that this is doing it for her. I hum when she touches me in return, hand pushing my shirt up, fingers teasing the hair below my belly. Jesus.
Such a little touch to make me feel so crazy.
I wonder, “Can you come like this?” and tip my face up to hers when she doesn’t answer. Vandy isn’t very good at holding a conversation when she’s like this—chasing, hungry, horny. It’s like fire in my veins to know this about her, a knowledge that no one else has. “Can you?”
She’s looking at me with glazed eyes, hips never ceasing. “Yeah, I think—yeah.” And then she asks, “Can…can you?”
I look at her tits, spilling out over her bra, and then at the way her skirt is riding up her thighs, the starkness of her soft skin against the rough denim of my jeans. “Definitely.”
Her lips press against mine, wet. Her tongue tangles, hot. Little pants coat me in her breath, and it takes everything not to cave to my instincts. To take. It becomes clear that Vandy needs this. That she’s desperate for release. I let her ride against me, hips thrusting more and more frantically, and this is it. There’s no way I’ll ever feel this good again, Vandy using my body to chase her own orgasm.
I can feel it approaching in the stutter of her rhythm, the way her legs tremble around me, in the sound she makes, these choked-off little whines against my lips. I guide her hips, working her against my cock, and whisper, “Yeah, that’s it,” and, “Come on, baby.”
Her fingers pinch into my shoulders, like she’s holding on as she falls over the edge. I watch as she falls apart, teeth sinking into her lip, brow furled. I sweep the hair from her cheek as she whimpers, and when I press a soothing kiss to her jaw, she pushes her nose into my temple, body shuddering one last time. The motion of her hips grows less frantic, more controlled. Intentional. Giving instead of seeking.
I’m so close, I push my hands up her skirt and clutch her hips, falling back to look at her. She looks like pure sex. Her eyes are still glazed over, but there’s a sharpness in them. Something bright and satisfied. She surprises me like this. I guess I always figured Vandy would be shy and reluctant, but she’s shameless and soft here, so willing that it makes my chest clench.
“God, look at you.” I wet my lips as I take her in, her skirt riding up around my wrists as I drag her against me. She doesn’t even play it up—doesn’t even need to. She looks into my eyes and my thumbs sweep inward, grazing the softness of where her legs meet her body, dangerously close to finding out just how wet she is, and that’s it.
My hips buck forward and I groan as the hot, sticky release spreads inside my boxers.
I take her face in my hands and rub a thumb over her puffy bottom lip. “You okay?” I didn’t miss the way her leg shook there at the end, even though I was doing most of the work. The realization that all that trembling from before could have been something bad startles the shit out of me.
“You don’t have to ask me that.” She swallows, eyes boring into mine. “Please don’t... don’t treat me like that, okay? Like everyone else does, like I’m fragile. I’m a big girl, Reyn. If we’re going to do this, I need you to know that.”
“I hear you,” I say, understanding that this is what she needs from me. The one person that treats her like an adult. “Just don’t ever…” Only I don’t quite know how to say it. How to ask her not to push herself too far because she’s afraid that I can’t handle facing the truth of her injuries. I try, “You can tell me, if there’s something you can’t—I mean, something that’s hard for you to…”
My fault, my brain screams. I did it.
I’m the reason I have to ask this, in every single way, and it makes my stomach roil.
Luckily, she understands what I need from her. “I know my limits, don’t worry.” If I was afraid of pissing her off, then I’m pleasantly surprised when she gives me a soft smile. “I told you last night, didn’t I? That I wasn’t ready for sex.”