Fucking goddamn it. I can’t take it, can’t help it. I’ve wanted to kiss her br**sts from the very first moment she accidentally flashed me while changing. I’ve seen them again since, but I’ve always forced my gaze away. To look was to want. Now I have my fingers in her pu**y and her juices slathered on my hand, and all I want is to touch her br**sts. Need to.
Fuck.
I give in, nudge the hem up with my nose so her breast is bared completely. My god…so perfect. A taut, round globe of silky sweet skin with wide, dark areolas and tall, rigid ni**les begging for my mouth.
I swallow hard, working my tongue to produce saliva. My mouth is dry, my throat clenched up. I’m nervous, oddly. It’s not as if I’ve never done this. Not by a long shot. But this, with Rania…it’s different, somehow.
I glance at her eyes, and she’s watching me again through hooded lids. I slow my fingers inside her, and her hips lessen the wildness of their bucking. Her mouth is open, and her eyes betray her weltering emotions.
“Please,” she whispers.
I don’t know what she’s asking. Stop? More? Make her come? I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her or scare her. I want her to experience this. The fear in her eyes tells me she’s never felt this before, and I’m not surprised. Sex for her must be an impersonal thing, a transaction. I can’t image anyone has ever taken the time or expended the effort to give her pleasure. This must be confusing and frightening for her, especially if she thinks I’m going to use her like she’s accustomed to being used. I can’t tell her I won’t. I don’t have the words, and I do want to. I want to be inside her. She’s so close to coming, and I want—need, so f**king bad—to move over her and push into her and feel her tight around me.
She is tight, too. I didn’t expect that, considering. Guilt and shame at the thought burn into me, but it’s true. I didn’t expect her to be tight, but she is.
“Please,” she whispers again, and touches my face so I look at her.
She arches her back and rocks her hips. She wants more.
She stares into my eyes, and then peels her shirt off so she’s naked from the waist up, glorious br**sts bare to my touch, bare to my mouth. I let myself look this time, take in the expanse of skin and mounds of flesh.
Her breath is coming in shallow pants, and I can feel the tension in her muscles. Baring herself like this is taking effort, courage. I want to touch her br**sts. I wish I could kneel above her so I have both hands free to touch her all over, but my wounds won’t let me, and I don’t think she’d react well to having me above her like that.
I take my fingers out of her, and she moans in protest. Her cheeks flame with shame as I lift my fingers to my nose to inhale her aromatic scent. I think she’s ashamed of the musk of desire from her juices. I put my fingers to my mouth and taste her essence, meeting her eyes all the while. Her eyes widen in pure shock and disbelief, perhaps even something like disgust. I can’t help a little laugh from escaping at the expression on her face. I swipe into her slit again, gather essence on my fingers, and lick it off again, just to prove the point. Her brow wrinkles, and she shakes her head.
I slide my palm across her ribs, and her expression smoothes out into pleasure as I cup the heavy weight of one breast in my hand. She watches me as I lower my face to her skin, kiss her flesh between her br**sts, kneading it. I rub my palm across her nipple, and she gasps. When I roll it between my fingers, she bites her lip to keep from moaning out loud. I wish I could tell her how much I love the noises she makes for me. I can’t, don’t try. Words would fail me. Her beauty has captured me, imprisoned my capacity for language. All I can do is pay homage to the temple of her body.
I pinch her nipple again, delighting at the gasp that tears from her, and then I take her nipple into my mouth and suckle, and I feel joy rocket through me when she moans so loud it’s almost a scream.
I find myself wondering how mad with ecstasy I could make her if I went down on her. God, she would respond so beautifully. I can almost feel her thighs clenching my face as she writhes against my mouth. I can almost feel her fingers tugging my hair and hear her voice raised in pleasure.
I don’t know if she’s ready for that.
I lick her skin, flick her ni**les, each one in turn, with my tongue, and I return my fingers to her pu**y, slide them against her clit slowly, circling gently, mindful of her sensitivity.
She gasps and moans and whimpers, all control over her vocal responses shot to hell now. I love it.
Fuck, I have to stop thinking that word. That word isn’t possible.
She feels so f**king good. Her skin is flaming hot against me, her br**sts softer than the softest silk, her hips rocking and writhing against my fingers. I have to fight myself to stay up here, to keep myself from startling her too much. She’s still skittish. But, dammit, I want to taste her. I know she would like it, once she got past the shock.
I really shouldn’t. It would freak her out.
But I want to make her come, want to taste her as she comes apart around me.
RANIA
Allah, I am so lost in the wilderness of ecstasy Hunter gives me that I have no control over anything I do. I hear my mouth making such shocking sounds, not faked now, but real. My knees are sticking up in the air, my heels against my backside, my hips moving as if they’re alive as Hunter moves his fingers against me.
His mouth is on my br**sts, moving from one to the other frantically, nibbling, kissing, licking. Every once in a while he bites my nipple, just hard enough to make me insane, to send jets of pleasure whirling inside me.
I feel him moving, but I cannot fathom what he might be doing. I cannot think, cannot form coherent ideas. All I know is his fingers inside me, his mouth on my br**sts. His fingers never cease their movement, and I am about to explode, but cannot. Not yet. I do not know why, but I cannot fall over the edge. I am afraid of what lies beyond, what that will feel like, but I also want it, more than I have ever wanted anything.
I feel him moving slowly, adjusting his position, but my eyes are glued shut as the lightning from his fingers, moving slow and then fast and then slow, fills me. I feel his shoulders brush my knees, and I know he is going to mount me now, and I am not even afraid, especially if it means relief from this boiling pressure within me.
But he does not mount me. His lips touch my br**sts, his shirt-clad chest brushing my stomach. Then, impossibly, terrifyingly, he moves downward. Toward my privates. No. No. I tense, freeze, but his fingers on my clitoris take over for me and I move once again, yet my fear does not abate.