“Then explain it to me,” he replied, fingers hooked around the waistband of her underwear.
“It’s not a set. And it’s not just about the colors matching. The material should match, too. These are, like, everyday functional panties,” she said. “But my bra is prettier than that. It’s more elegant. Elegant and everyday don’t really go together.”
“Well, you’re elegant, and I’m everyday, and I think we go together just fine,” Reece replied.
“You always have the best lines,” Bailey sighed.
“No, not always,” Reece said.
He paused a half second before pulling down her panties. His heart raced at the first sight of her * waxed into a clean, thin strip. He spread her legs to look further. Nothing. Just smooth silky skin inviting him to have a taste.
“You knew we’d be doing this,” he said suddenly.
Bailey shook her head. “I didn’t.”
“Then how does your * look so perfect?” he asked.
“Oh my God,” she muttered.
“I’m serious. I don’t know anything about feminine grooming. Tell me.”
Bailey laughed. She recognized the real possibility that they may never get to the sex part because Reece kept asking questions. Explain this. Explain that. He was dangerously curious, and she found it both annoying and sweet.
“I have a standing appointment,” she explained. “And I just happened to go three days ago. Now quit staring at it and do something with it.”
Reece’s eyebrows shot up.
“I mean, if you want,” she added sheepishly.
“Oh, I’m gonna do something with it, all right. And after I make you come, I’m gonna fuck you. And make you come again.”
Bailey wanted to scream “Yes!” at the top of her lungs. It had been far too long, and she was tired of getting herself off. She wanted to feel a man do it, and she silently prayed that Reece was good at it.
He dipped his head and kissed her lightly—right on her clit. She thrust her hips forward asking him to do it again. And so he did, but just a feather kiss that confused and frustrated her. And then she felt his tongue run the length of her slit until it reached her clit. She froze, waiting for the pleasure pop of his tongue on her trigger, but it never came. He ran his tongue back down instead, and she groaned.
He settled himself to torturing her sweetly, licking and tasting her everywhere except for the one spot she wanted.
“Reece!” she cried out. He’d been expecting that.
“Yes?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know!” she huffed.
“I thought I was pleasuring you,” he said in mock confusion.
She raised her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re torturing me.”
He smirked and slid his finger inside her, never taking his eyes off her face. Her head dropped backward, and he pumped her gently, feeling her muscles contract and release around his finger. He was done teasing. He continued fingering her while his mouth went directly to her clit. He kissed it, licked it, then sucked it in, swirling his tongue until he found a rhythm she liked. He knew he’d discovered it when her legs dropped open even wider and her fingers went back to his head. She twisted his hair, and he winced, but he didn’t pull away. He wanted to listen to her come for him. He wanted to taste her orgasm. The buildup was delicious. He imagined the explosion would be decadent.
He held her still as she writhed against her pleasure, trying to ease it, trying to control it.
“Reece . . .”
He knew she was almost there—that peak of pure delight when the stars burst and blinded anyone who looked at them. He doubled his efforts, felt her legs seize, then listened as she cried out, releasing his hair, pounding the bed on either side of her as her orgasm gripped and pulled, pushed and broke in a storm surge of desire. He drank her orgasm—every drop—and reveled in the feel of her sweetness inside of him. And now it was his turn to be inside of her.
He stripped and crawled on top of her, listening to her panting.
“May I?” he asked.
She nodded, and he entered her slowly. She cried out again, this time at the exquisitely painful stretching of her sensitive flesh. He silenced her with a kiss. He knew she was trapped somewhere between ecstasy and hell, and he felt mildly sorry for her. But he wouldn’t pull out. He couldn’t. And he didn’t think she wanted him to.
“Bailey,” he breathed, pumping her slowly.
She whimpered and wrapped her legs around him. He swelled in response to the sound of her cries. What the hell was wrong with him that he liked hearing them? He thought it must be the control he wielded—that this pretty little creature underneath him could go nowhere unless he said so. She was his; she belonged to him. Finally! Something of his own. No more foster kid hang-ups that he wasn’t loved—that no one wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted to belong to him. She submitted fully. She entrusted herself to him completely, and he wanted to use her for it. He wanted to fuck her hard and make her cry for him again. And again and again.
He drove into her harder, and she screamed. He eased up.
“No good?”
“Do it again!”
He thrust harder, pumping her urgently, finding a sadistic satisfaction in her desperate mewling, her body bucking and fighting against his. Like she wanted to escape. But he knew she was only teasing him.
“More?” he asked. He wanted to hear her say it.
“Yes!” She thrust her hips, begging for another release.
He knew his orgasm was near. It had been a while for him, too, and he tried his best to hold out for as long as possible. He promised her another orgasm, but he wasn’t sure he could deliver. And he couldn’t worry about that right now. He kept pumping, consumed in his pleasure, thinking of nothing else in the world but his impending release. He climbed higher, higher, and then the wave crested, and he was a goner.
He knew she didn’t come again, and while he was spent, he still wanted to give her the release he promised. He rolled to his side and slid his hand between her legs, his middle finger finding her clit.
“No,” she said softly.