Moving to the end of the bed, I look down. I don’t know what she sleeps in as any time I happen to run into her in the kitchen in the mornings, she always has her bathrobe on over her sleep outfit. I can make out a tank top, the thin spaghetti straps showing against her skin. The covers are pulled to her waist, and she’s laying on her back. I actually knew she was a back sleeper as I’d stayed at her house on a few occasions when we were dating when her dad was away on “business”. My parents always thought I was staying at a buddy’s house, but I’d go straight to Leighton’s—funny how I don’t even think of her as Tracey anymore—and we’d play at being grown-ups. She’d cook dinner for us, then we’d clean the kitchen together. We’d sometimes watch TV, then we’d fool around. It always ended with me carrying her to her room where we’d make love the only way two teenagers knew how to do—fumbling hands, fast breath, and quick finishes.
That was okay… at that age, we could go three or four times a night.
My lips curl up in a private smile as I realize… we managed to pull off three times in one night at The Wicked Horse last week. Guess some things don’t belong only to the youthful.
Bending slightly, I grip onto the covers and start to tug them off her. Incrementally, her body is revealed to me and I have to say, the tiny panties she wears with the tank are sexy as fuck.
Leighton’s chest rises and falls deeply, indicating she’s pretty far under the spell of sleep. She has one leg extended, the other cocked at an angle. Her head is turned, one arm thrown over her pillow, the other resting gently on her stomach.
One night at The Wicked Horse, I’d noticed she has the faintest white lines running vertically across her belly, and it took me a moment to realize they were stretch marks. In all my years of fucking—with all variety of women—I’d never seen them before. Didn’t mean they weren’t there, but, in all honesty, I’ve never paid attention to the minute details of a woman’s body before. Not the way I do with Leighton.
I’ll never admit it to Leighton, but fuck if seeing those lines didn’t turn me on. My cock was already hard as we’d been heavy into foreplay, but it seemed to swell to epic proportions and started aching when I understood what those lines were. To me, they were like her battle scars for making it through pregnancy and childbirth—alone and without me—and it was the most beautiful thing in the world to me.
Again, it made me ten times hornier than I already was, so I fucked her brains out after that. She said something silly after we were done like, “I don’t know what got into you, but I like it.”
What I should have said—if I were being honest—was, “You got into me, woman—into my fucking head—and it’s affecting me.”
But I didn’t. I just kissed her to shut her up.
I realize something now as I survey her.
I’m hard. My cock pressed against the zipper of the jeans I’d slid on when I left the bed, intent on coming in here and having my way with Leighton.
Just looking at her.
Thinking about her.
It’s all it takes.
I drag the zipper down and push my jeans off, kicking them free with my feet. My cock juts out, wanting nothing more than to be deep inside Leighton’s body.
But there’s something else I’m going to do first.
Pressing my legs to the end of the mattress, I lean forward and slip my hands into the edge of her panties. This will hopefully wake her up.
I tug at the material, which is stretchy and pliable. With a bit of persistence, I get them over her hips and ass. From there on, they silkily slide right down her legs until they come free of her feet. I drop them on the mattress beside her body. Leighton gives an annoyed groan, her head turning on her pillow and her left leg shifting so the opposite one is now extended and cocked.
Which isn’t exactly making things easy for me.
Gently, I take her ankles in my grip and slowly spread her legs apart. I push her feet up a little until her knees bend, which bares her pussy to me.
I bring my fingertips to her mound, then brush them through the trimmed hair. Eventually moving just my fingertip through the slit, I skim over her sensitive flesh. Her clit is hidden inside, unaware and sleeping. Leighton doesn’t move a muscle, her breathing remaining deep.
I slowly crawl onto the bottom of the bed, press my torso into the mattress, and slide my arms under her legs, curling them over her hips until my hands hover over her pussy. My fingers press against her lips, and I open her up so everything is exposed. Gently—ever so softly—I bring my face closer to touch the tip of my tongue to her clit where it’s nestled in deep and soft.