In my head, I knew we were going to have sex. But somehow, I didn’t connect the dots that I’d have to be naked for it.
God, I’m naked.
I’m naked.
In front of a guy. In front of him. The most perfect specimen ever.
He’s made of hard, sculpted muscles that, yes, I know he works for every single day. And I’m made of pillowy, doughy fat that I get from all the candies I used to steal from the kitchen cabinet when Mom wasn’t looking.
I stare at my feet and try to picture myself naked. Big boobs, round stomach and wide hips with dimpled thighs. Oh, and all of it is whiter than the moon.
Zach takes in a deep breath and says, in a guttural tone, “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you naked?”
I look up and remember he said something similar about kissing me. “A thousand times?”
A puff of air escapes him and he nods.
He looks mesmerized as his gaze moves from one part of my body to another. He seems like he doesn’t know where to look first. His eyes are slightly wide and his mouth is parted.
I’m riddled with goose bumps everywhere. Everything on my skin is coarse and scratchy. Even my soft hair that brushes against the small of my back.
Zach puts his hand on the center of my chest, right in the middle of my heaving breasts. He splays his palm, touching both of them at the same time. “Jesus. The number of times I’ve jerked off imagining your tits. I can’t even tell you.”
He circles my left nipple with his thumb, shrinking it into a hard pebble. He loves playing with them; I know that. He loves waking them up, worrying them with his fingers, sucking them with his mouth.
His hand moves down and without my volition, my spine arches. He reaches my stomach and digs his thumb into my belly button.
Somehow, he’s pressing into that vein again. The one that swells and becomes taut every time he’s close, every time I think about him.
Zach’s breathing has become harsh as he keeps going. His hand travels down, rough and enticing, and slides inside my panties. The moment he touches my drenched core my legs go taut and my heels leave the floor.
I’m standing on my tiptoes, hardly able to balance myself.
He moves toward me and our bodies meet, me naked and exposed and him still wearing his t-shirt and jeans, burning me with their friction.
Sliding his arm around my waist, he helps me maintain my balance as his other hand cups my entire pussy.
“Zach.” I moan his name and he squeezes it like it’s an object.
He pinches my swollen lips together, making me fist his shirt and keeping me on my toes. I don’t know why it’s so erotic but it is.
“Who are you?” he whispers.
“Your prize.”
As if those words are a catalyst, Zach captures my lips with his.
I wind my arms around his neck, fisting his shirt in the back, pulling at it, tugging it. Impatiently. God, his kisses have made me so impatient for him, his cock.
He gets the signal, and taking his hand out of my panties, he shoves them down, completely baring me before going to his shirt and snagging it off his body.
I want to work on the fly of his jeans but he doesn’t let me. He goes back to kissing me and I forget everything but his lips and his roving hands.
My hands are no slouches, either.
They keep making sweeps over his shoulders, the ridges of his back, the slant of his side. I don’t know where to touch him, how to touch him to make this hunger go away. He’s hot and cut and corded and I can rake my nails along the muscled slabs until the end of time.
We break off to breathe but even then, our lips are connected. We’re breathing each other’s air as Zach walks me backward and lays me down on the bed before looming over me.