She had her drink at her lips when she started laughing. Her glass tipped, spilling rivulets of rum and Coke down her chest and tank top. “Aw, damnit. Now I’m moist.”
I recoiled at her use of the most disturbing word in the English language. “No, Maeve, no.”
She arched her back. “What? You have a problem with my moist chest?”
Damning the consequences, I ran my finger through the puddle of liquid at the top of her breasts and growled as I licked it off. “I think I could maybe dry it off for you. Make it all better. Make you stop saying that damn word.”
“Moist?” she teased, her voice breathier, her back arched even higher. “Are you gonna get a towel from the bathroom? Daddy me?”
“No, I’m going to lick every drop off of you, and for the love of fucking god, stop saying I’m daddy-ing you. Makes me feel old as sin and gross as hell.”
She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressed together to hold back a laugh. “Grosser than moist?”
Someone else was killed in the movie while Jamie Lee Curtis screamed and Maeve giggled. Her eyes shifted to me, and some of her laughter died down as our gazes clashed.
“I’m waitin’ to see how you lick me dry.” Pinching her wet shirt between two fingers, she tugged on it. “I’m a mess.”
Not waiting for a formal invitation, I lowered my head to her chest, running my tongue over the swells of her breasts and sucking up puddles of sticky liquid. She fell back against the headboard, her fingers finding their way into my hair.
“Oh shit,” she sighed. “Why does that feel so good?”
I shook my head against her chest. “I’m taking care of you.”
She giggled again. “My shirt is soaked. Absolutely drenched.”
“Must be uncomfortable.” Fisting the wet fabric, I pulled it away from her skin, exposing more breast for me to taste. I moved my mouth over her, eliciting sighs and trembles. Her fingers left my hair to bring my face away from her chest. We locked eyes, neither of us moving.
Then her tongue darted out to lick her upper lip, and I leapt at it, crashing my mouth against hers, sucking her tongue between my lips. I ate her moan of surprise and gave her my tongue.
Fingers dug into my shoulders, gripping my shirt, tugging. I tore my mouth from hers and let her yank my shirt off before she ripped it apart. Before I could kiss her again, she slipped her tank top over her head and tossed it across the room.
Like a beacon, her full, heavy breasts drew me in. She was gorgeous everywhere, supple, ivory skin, no sharp corners or hard lines. All curves and hills, peaks and valleys. I closed my mouth over her pebbled nipple, swirling my tongue and sucking. She moaned openly, wantonly, her back bowing.
I gripped her other breast, kneading the soft flesh. She overflowed my palms and overloaded my brain. God, I wanted to touch her everywhere, taste every square inch of her, but there were almost too many choices. I couldn’t decide where to go next.
Nails scraped down my biceps in straight, smooth lines, then up my back in erratic zigzags. Her fingers clutched onto me as I feasted on her, moving to her other breast. My tongue flicked the dark pink bumps around her nipple. I went slow, like there was a hidden message waiting for me there. Maybe it’d unlock the secrets of this girl. Tell me why I was so gone for her.
My palm skated down her stomach to the waistband of her pants. I knew we were catapulting into dangerous territory. I wasn’t drunk enough not to realize, but Iwasdrunk enough not to give a shit.
Not when I slipped my hand into her pants and found she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Not when her legs fell open, beckoning my hand between them. And definitely not when my fingers slid between her wet folds.
I got on my knees between her legs and hooked my thumbs on the waistband of her pants. She watched me, her bottom lip between her teeth, chest rising and falling.
The nod of her head was slight, but it was all I needed for permission. Her pajama pants were lost with a tug, off the bed with a kick, and Maeve fucking O’Day was naked, spread out in front of me. Silken hair splayed across the white pillow beneath her head. Flush from her cheeks down to her chest. Nipples rosy and wet from my mouth. Hips wide and soft, I could almost picture my fingers sinking into them as I gripped her. And her cunt, open, slick, swollen, and ready.
Teasing her, I pressed a fingertip to her opening without entering. Her hips jerked and her legs spread even wider. Needing to know, to feel her from the inside, I pushed two fingers into her. Her breath caught, and my heart paused.
“Perfect,” I murmured as I withdrew and slid back in, watching my fingers disappear into Maeve’s body. Her channel clenched around me, making me work for every inch.
She reached out, gripping my tight forearms, her nails digging into my skin. Her eyes were focused on my hand working in and out of her, her hips moving in time with me. My dick throbbed to the same beat.
“I need more,” she rasped. “Are you going to fuck me, Santiago?”
“You want me to, Maeve?”
She pulled back, sitting up, then kneeled so we were chest to chest. Her fingers went directly to my fly, opening my jeans and palming my length. Both of us gasped, shuddered, leaned into each other. Mouths clashing, kissing, sucking. We were messy and needy, tongues sliding, hands touching.
She shoved my jeans down my hips, and I held her tits up to my mouth, sucking her between my lips. I couldn’t get enough of her taste, the way her flesh tightened and pebbled. I could’ve sucked on her all night.