My hand slips down between us. If she can venture south, so can I.
I skim along her taut stomach, the waistband of her shorts, inside her cotton panties. Then I find wet, hot heat.
Later, when someone asks me about the happiest moment of my life, I will think back to this, right now. I’ll lie and say something PG-rated, but I’ll know the truth.
I guide my middle finger into her and her legs drop to the ground. I need better access, more access. She doesn’t move from that door though. Pinned is the way I like her. Between my body and the door, there’s no end in sight. I pump in and out of her and sweep my tongue into her mouth. This is what we’ve been waiting for, I tell her with my touch. This.
My other hand is lonely, and that tank top she’s wearing might as well be paper-thin. I can feel her chest quivering against mine. She’s shaking, and it could be from nervousness, but I know better—it’s adrenaline.
I can feel that she’s not wearing a bra. No. Damn. Bra. Had I known that while we were watching the movie, I would have had her pinned to this door an hour ago. Now, I’m pissed I waited so long. I’m anxious and hungry. I don’t bother taking her top off, just yank down the front of it until one of her soft breasts fills my palm. She shivers, like that little touch alone could bring her to an orgasm. I smirk against her mouth, memorizing the wordless cues her body shouts back at me. So you’re sensitive there? I skim the pad of my thumb over the tip of her breast and she yanks my hair in response.
My other hand is still working wonders inside her wet panties. Poor Meredith, she really doesn’t stand a chance.
My palm covers her breast, and I roll my hand up and down. I get the best reaction from her with a feather-soft touch in the beginning, nothing too aggressive, just subtle teasing and torturing. I know from the way she’s grinding her hips against me that I’m hitting the mark.
I break our kiss and tip my head down, replacing my hand with my mouth. My tongue teases her breast. Her head falls back against the door and her eyes flutter close. I do it again then wrap my lips around the flushed tip.
She releases a slow exhalation and I think maybe I should take this to the bedroom, but there are a lot of things in life I should do. I’m happy right where I am, coaxing and licking and seducing until her fingers dig into my shoulders, and she’s promising me she’s about to lose it.
I keep her right against the door even as I move on from her breast and continue farther south. She moans, annoyed with the loss of friction between her thighs, but then I’m on my knees and her eyes widen with wonder.
“Oh no,” she says, in shock.
From what I know of her husband, he probably never put her needs before his. I bet he never knelt like this and tugged these tiny little shorts to the side and stared up in awe. There’s only a thin layer of cotton between me and my end goal.
“Jack,” she whispers, unsure.
It feels like we’re going fast, but there’s no slowing down, no going steady. This moment has been weeks in the making. I’ve written a thesis in my head about the things I’d like to do to her body.
Our eyes lock and I see every unspoken word there, all the uncertainty and worry. I see that this isn’t comfortable for her, to have me looking at her like this, but I won’t back off unless she tells me to because I don’t see regret in her gaze—I see need, hot and raw.
I brush my thumb up and down the center of her panties and she bucks her hips toward me. I try not to gloat. Still, a smirk forms all the same. I pin her hips against the door with my free hand and try again. This time, there’s no reprieve from the gentle strokes, the small circles I draw against the wet cotton. Her breathing quickens.
I could let her come just like that, with my fingers and my breath on her, but I want more. She wants more—deserves more.
I tug her pajama shorts and panties down until they fall to the floor and then lift one of her legs so her foot is propped on my shoulder. I have the perfect angle, right between her spread thighs.
“Oh my god. I don’t think…” She’s rambling, words slipping out between sharp inhales.
She tries to move her leg, to squeeze her thighs together and close herself off. I hold her steady and glance up. Her ponytail’s gone now. Her dark hair frames her face, softening her delicate features even more. She swallows and I drag my hand up her thigh slowly. I’m saying, See how good this feels? See how much better it could feel? I reach the groove of her hip and pause; it’s a question. Our eyes lock again, and I ask for her consent out loud. I need to hear it.
“Do you want me to keep going?”
There are no fancy words or pretty promises.
I could tell her things to ease her mind, things like the truth: I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want her.
But words have been used against her in the past, and maybe for her, talk is cheap. I have no way of knowing what that bastard said to her, what abuses he slung at her in moments like this to make her scared of letting me touch her. Even still, I know enough not to promise her things with words when I can use my body instead. I can prove to her that there are better guys in the world, guys who would sink to their knees and worship at her feet.
Her name comes out gritty and hard, pleading.
I know she’s uncomfortable. I know she’s thinking too much about the bare facts of what we’re doing, so I decide to overload her brain, to give her a future to focus on so her past is the last thing on her mind.
I tug on her thigh, and she lets her leg fall open. I keep my gaze locked with hers as my hand covers her wetness. I brush up and down softly. It’s a pace intended to torture. She rolls her hips and two of my fingers sink into her.
She closes her eyes for a moment then opens them. One word slips from her mouth, followed by another.
It’s all the urging I need. I rub soft circles while I kiss up the inside of her thigh. We both know where I’m headed, but she still loses her footing when my mouth finally gets there. The leg she’s standing on buckles and I wrap my right hand around her thigh, holding her up. My other hand goes around her waist so I can press her hips against my mouth.
Her breathing grows labored as I bury my head between her thighs. My fingers pump in and out, quickening. She fists the top of my hair and arches her back as I suck and kiss and swirl my tongue in soft circles.
Her inhibitions are lost to the Texas wind.
Her focus is on my mouth and the climax building up inside her.
I drag my tongue up the length of her and our eyes lock.
She’s a goner.
Her legs are shaking and she’s watching me do this to her, watching me as I spread her thighs even wider and tug her down until my tongue sinks into her. My thumb starts rubbing circles against her wetness, and the combination is too intense for her to run from any longer.
Her eyes pinch closed as her thighs quiver. I can feel the waves of pleasure roll through her, feel her clench, and—fuck—it’s the sexiest thing watching her come undone like that, tasting her as she falls apart.
I’m relentless, dragging out every drop of that orgasm I can get. She’s still shaking from the aftereffects, so sensitive that each drag of my tongue makes her hips buck. Only when I’m sure she’s really finished do I smile and sit back on my knees.
She blink, blink, blinks.
“Where am I? Who am I?”
Her leg drops back to the ground, and she’s standing there naked from the bottom down, her tank top askew. I’m still completely clothed, and we realize it at the same time. Her hands shoot up to fix her top and I help her step back into her underwear and shorts. Then I stand and smile.
“Wow.” Her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are flushed.
I smile and finger the strap of her tank top, righting it on her shoulder.
“Now what?” she asks, voice shaky.
“Now, I go shower.”
I’m still sweaty from my run.
She’s so damn cute standing there, unsure of herself. I can’t fathom how a woman as beautiful as she is still manages to have a self-conscious bone in her body. Then it hits me: of course she’s uncertain and reserved.