When her fingers tucked into the elastic, the warmth of skin inside cotton and denim seduced her. She unfastened the button and unzipped his jeans, then worked the fabric down to the tops of his thighs. His cock, trapped in a painful-looking bend against his pelvis, sprang free, thick and heavy, pulsing slightly as it lifted into the air with his heartbeat.
He heel-toed out of his motorcycle boots so she could get the wet denim off, leaving him naked in her kitchen. She lost her train of thought, then gave herself a mental shake. “It’s been a while,” she said. Uncertain where or how to begin, she flicked him a glance.
“Here’s good,” he said. His gaze was soft and hot, holding hers as he took her hand and flattened her palms against his chest. Hard muscles under soft skin sparked a sense memory. She reached out to cup the underside of his cock, caressing from the root to the head. The shocked, strained grunt he made sent heat spiking through her so she did it again.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and reached for the buttons of her blouse. Hands trembling, he fumbled with the placket, then tugged her shirttails from her wide-legged pants, revealing the soft gray lace of her bra. “Oh, fuck,” he said.
The only luxury she’d claimed for herself while married to Jason was her underwear. Silky, lacy matching sets, every day, and she was suddenly, fiercely glad she’d held firm on that because he was staring at her breasts, lifted and cupped in the lace, like he’d never seen such a thing before. Then he drew her blouse over her breasts again, noting the way the lace was barely visible under the opaque fabric. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered again, and bent his head to kiss her.
His mouth was temptation in flesh, warm, full, borderline pouty lips against hers. His cock still firmly in her hand, she parted her lips and felt his tongue slip inside to touch hers. His hands cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples, then coaxed the straps from her shoulders. The fabric sagged a little, baring the upper curves and swells. Still gripping his shaft, she stepped forward, nestling his cock against her upper abdomen, framing the head between her breasts.
His mouth tore away from hers as he bent his head to look between their bodies and groan. “That’s what you’re hiding under those prim clothes?” he asked, low and velvet-rough, then bent at the knees to wrap his arm around her hips, hoist her off her feet, and turn to set her on the counter. His hands were everywhere, scratching through her hair, cupping her jaw, holding her for his mouth as he stepped between her knees.
She gasped, the primitive act of spreading her legs for him sending shock waves of lust radiating from her hot core. He tugged her bra down just enough to release her breasts, then cupped them and pinched her nipples. She gasped again, writhed too, and reached behind her to brace herself against the cabinet. Her legs drew up, clasping to his hips as she arched into the touch.
Hands still trembling he wrestled with her waistband until he figured out the hook-and-eye closure, then jerked down the zipper. He stepped back just far enough to strip her trousers and panties off, leaving her in disheveled hair and blouse, and her argyle knee socks.
His gaze held hers as he turned his hand to cup her sex. Looking into his blue-gray
eyes while he gently parted her folds and dipped one finger between them was the hottest thing she’d ever done, sending a bolt of lust crashing through her.
She was slick and ready for him, and this was her life now, half naked in the kitchen of the house she was living in after her divorce, with a totally naked student …
“What … what’s…?” she began distractedly before her brain shorted out at the sight of his hips keeping her legs spread, his fingers dipping, exploring, then circling slick fluids around her clit.
That her life was about to derail spectacularly was the last coherent thought she had. Fire spread inside, making her achingly aware of her sex, how desperately she wanted him inside her. Blind and seeking, she reached out and gripped the nape of his neck, pulling him closer so he could kiss her and touch her at the same time. His breath gusted over her lips, his tongue circling on her lower lip in time with his fingertip.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she sobbed, climax pulsing through her. He swore against her mouth and slid his fingers down, inside. Heel of his thumb to her clit, three fingers stretching the most sensitive flesh inside her, and she arched out the last of her release.
Her legs were shaking as they relaxed against the counter. He reached for his wallet, flipped it open and fumbled out a condom packet. He dropped it, smacked his forehead on the counter when he bent to retrieve it.