“What if—” She cuts herself off to smile, teeth and all. “What if I…can’t? I’ve never let anyone other than myself touch me down there.”
Rather than argue she most definitely can, I say, “Behind performance anxiety is usually worry you’ll let the other person down. You can’t possibly let me down. You have nothing to lose. I’ll do my thing. You relax. If I don’t hit the right buttons or ring the right bells, you can call it quits, or you can instruct me and I’ll keep trying until I succeed.”
She shakes her head, but it’s not so much a “no” as it is expressing wonder and surprise. “Why are you doing this?”
“With great power comes great responsibility. Just so happens I have a lot of power in this realm. Are you going to let me prove it to you or not?” I reach for her crossed arms. She lets me pull them away from her body to reveal two of the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Oh, Cris. You’re gorgeous, honey.”
She blushes. It’s amazing.
I lower my head, place her hands in my hair, then I stroke my tongue over one of her nipples. I go slow, licking, suckling, laving. She tastes incredible. She can’t hold still, her hips wriggling beneath me. Her whimpers of ecstasy let me know I’m on the right track. I continue kissing her while moving one hand to the button of her jeans. By the time her zipper is down, her hips lift.
She’s ready.
Sliding my hand past the barrier of her jeans, I find matching silky green panties. I stroke my finger over the fabric panel. She’s wet. Ready. But to be sure, I ask. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
It’s the sincerest one I’ve heard yet. Slipping past the silken fabric, I touch her bare pussy and feel my cock grow heavy. The hardest part (no pun intended) is going to be remembering not to take this further. This isn’t about me. She is looking for an orgasm. She didn’t ask to lose her virginity to me. Although, I don’t see why I couldn’t help her out in that area as well. One thing at a time.
Focus, Benji.
Stroking her damp folds, I move up her body and kiss her mouth. Against those soft lips I instruct, “Spread.”
Her legs fall open like I command, and damn, is that heady. I deepen my touch as her tongue explores my mouth with vigor. Her hips lift and drop in a rhythm she’s setting. I’m just keeping time.
When she’s close, she pulls her mouth from mine to suck in a few quickened breaths. Her brows dive inward, her eyes shut. She licks her lips. Her hands are clutching the couch cushion beneath her. I insert one finger incredibly gently, and for a moment she goes rigid before she relaxes into it. I press her clit with my thumb and, knowing she’s close, dip my head to take a nipple on my tongue to send her over.
She comes on contact.
Her cry is hoarse, desperate, satiated. I continue stroking until I feel warmth on my fingers. Her entire body tenses and relaxes until finally, her hand grabs my wrist. I flatten my fingers against her sex and feel her pulse out the end of her orgasm. Her breasts lift. I take a moment to place one final kiss on the tip of each one.
She’s so responsive. So bare. So open. So ripe. I was not wrong. This is damn fun. My cock disagrees, pounding against my fly with angry fists.
Down, boy.Greedy bastard.
“You’re much better than I am at that,” she mutters sleepily, her cheeks the perfect shade of rose. Her eyes flutter open. Her gray irises appear darker with blown-out pupils. “You weren’t exaggerating. You are very good.”
I kiss her again, unable to stop myself. I pull my hand from her panties, zip and button her up, and then I retrieve her shirt and bra and lay them over her chest. She clutches her clothing to her body and watches me from beneath heavy eyelids.
Seriously gorgeous.
“Any time you need my assistance,” I tell her, trying to shift around a burgeoning erection without being noticeable about it, “you let me know.”
She opens her mouth, maybe to laugh or maybe to tell me something. I don’t find out because my phone buzzes and rings in my pocket. “Shit. Sorry about this.”
I move to silence it as she sits up and snaps her bra. “Don’t be sorry. Answer it if you need to.”
Trish’s name lights the screen. My phone rings again. I feel the weight of Cris’s eyes, but she looks away as soon as I look at her. She redresses as I stand and silence the call.
“Not important,” I tell her. She returns my smile with a tight-lipped one of her own.
“Well. Thank you.” She fluffs her hair and tucks the front of her shirt into her jeans. I have a brief thought about how creamy she was, how good she might taste. But the timing is wrong to ask for more. I reroute my gaze to her face.
She’s already snapped out of her post-orgasmic haze thanks to me not leaving my phone in my office or silencing the fucking thing. Now who’s the idiot? She redresses quickly, and then shuts down both her laptop and her sated expression.
“Maybe we can have dinner another night,” she says, all business once again.