"It doesn't really count as your clothes then," she says.
"So you want to take it off?" I play with the edge of the t-shirt.
"If you help."
I run my fingers over the waistband of her bottoms. The soft skin of her stomach.
She shudders as I slip my hand under the t-shirt and cup her breast.
I run my thumb over her nipple and bring my lips to her neck.
She wraps her legs around me. "Is everything okay?"
"Huh?" Are we talking about something? Blood is fleeing my brain at an alarming rate.
"You were upstairs awhile."
"Just something on the net."
"Important?"
"Not as important as this." I run my thumb over her nipple.
She rocks her hips against me. "Patrick—"
I pull the t-shirt over her head.
She shifts and pushes the boxers over her ass. She slides into my lap in only those gorgeous black panties. Cotton. Lace trim. The same style she wore last time.
This is Imogen, to a t.
Practical and sexy and hiding everything I want to see.
I already know what fits her.
I already know I need her.
I rock her body against mine so her clit is against my cock, those two layers of cotton between us, and I bring my mouth to her chest.
I toy with her.
She rubs against me until she comes in those perfect black panties. "Please."
I reach for the box of condoms on the bookshelf.
She helps.
Then she's in my lap, groaning against me, coming on my cock as I suck on her perfect tits. She works me until I'm there, then she collapses in my lap, sweaty and spent and mine.
Thisiswhat I want.
The beautiful, guarded woman offering something precious.
I've never thought of sex that way. It doesn't have to be special or intimate, but it can be.
With her, it is.
No matter what I do, how I take her, it is.