I’ve received plenty of kisses to know this experience is unique. It holds an entirely new facet than any in my past, given I know Cris better than I knew anyone in my past.
There is a deep trust between us, and I refuse to lose it. I know how tough it’s been for her to relax and unwind with her responsibilities at home. I didn’t realize it involved her intact virginity and the claim she’d “forgotten” about it—still not sure how that happens. But I refuse to let her feel like an outcast.
I’m going to show her how good it can be—how good it should be. Knowing I can deliver better than any bumbling moron she’s dated before me strokes my already stroked ego. Speaking of strokes, her tongue comes out to play. I tip my head and allow her to deepen the kiss. Her hands slide from my cheeks to my neck and rake upward into my hair, sending chills down my spine. I scoop up the back of her hair with my hand and pull her seeking mouth to mine, tighter than before. The tiny whimper from her throat is like a gun signaling the start of a race.
And they’re off.
I love physical affection. Touching, kissing. Delivering what the other person needs or wants. If I had any idea Cris was lacking in that department, I’d have leapt on this opportunity way before now. I wasn’t trying to be cocky when I said I was good. I was sincere. There has always been a clear demarcation between my head and my heart. My body and my soul.
I pull away to take a much-needed breath, floored by the heat simmering in her eyes. I can’t help smiling since I’m responsible for putting it there.
“Firecracker,” I whisper. She smiles a demure, pure Cris smile that tugs the vicinity of my groin.
Not my heart. Never my heart.
“Can we skip dinner?” she breathes.
“But—”
“Benji.” Her fingernails stroke my scalp. “I’ve waited years for this. Now that I’ve accepted, I’m pretty damn anxious.”
Fuck, she’s cute.
It’d take superhuman strength to turn her down knowing she wants what I want. To show her the time of her life and send some of the heat in her eyes skittering down her entire body.
“Still want me to slide my hands into your pants?” I murmur against her lips. She squirms and scoots to the edge of her chair, a nonverbal yes. “Do you want me to kiss you anywhere else? Like here?” I ask before I place a long, open-mouthed kiss on the underside of her jaw. She sighs.
“Or here?” I rake my teeth down the side of her throat before soothing it with another kiss. She moans. Her fingers go tight in my hair, and she pulls at the longish strands on top.
“Or lower?” I drag my tongue along her collarbone.
“J-just above the waist,” she amends. I raise my head and find her looking adorably nervous. “But your hands can go below.”
“That I can do.” I stand and she stands with me. She’s drop-dead gorgeous today. Even in the simple ensemble of jeans and a T-shirt. She’s wearing a gold ring on her index finger and no other jewelry. Her beauty has always been understated. You have to look closer to see what’s there. Simplicity. Honesty. Once I noticed, I couldn’t unsee it, but seeing it is never a hardship.
I lead her to the loveseat on the other side of her office. It’s dark brown, matching the earth tones of this room. Beige walls with green and beige and orange artwork on the walls—not my mother’s work, but I made the frames.
I sit and she sits with me. Leaning in, I kiss her, this time untucking her shirt from the waist of her jeans as I do. She lets me lay her back, her big gray eyes looking so hopeful it hurts—in a good way.
“Trust me?” I ask, knowing she does.
“Of course.” A shaky smile follows.
“We’ll keep it light. This is supposed to be fun.” I raise her shirt and kiss her stomach, her ribs and then up, up until I press a kiss between her breasts. They’re the perfect size. B-cup, I’d guess. The bra she’s wearing, a pale spring green lace, gives me enough of a peek of her pink nipples to spur me on. “This okay?” I kiss the swell of one breast over the demi-cup of her bra.
“Yes.” It’s more of a breathy sigh than a word, but it was a yes, so it totally counts.
“What about this?” I slip my tongue past the bra to taste her areola.
“Yes!” That was a borderline shout. Her eyes open, and her head jerks off the sofa. I lay my palm flat on her chest and push her down. “Don’t even think of stopping me,” I warn. “Not when you’re enjoying yourself.”
I wonder if this will take long at all. Let’s find out.
Reaching behind her back, I unhook her bra. Then I sit back and bring her forward. “Shirt off okay?”
She nods, a little dazed, a lot beautiful. I try not to gloat as I take her shirt and bra off and set them on the low table next to the couch. She’s in such good hands. She has no idea what she’s in for, but I do. She crosses her arms over her chest and lies back, watching me with curiosity and something else I can’t name. Anticipation, I think. But I have to ask. No way do I want her regretting anything. She’s either all in or this is all over.
“What’s wrong?” I touch the cleavage she’s giving herself by pushing her breasts together, dragging my finger along the soft swells of each breast.