Full Package

When I break the kiss, she’s panting. Her hair is a wild mess. Her lips are swollen and red, almost bruised. Her green eyes shine with desire. She’s never looked hotter than she does right now. My eyes roam down her body. Her apron is light blue, with a cherry pattern on it. She wears a skirt under it, and the dark red material lands right above her knees.

Underneath the apron is some kind of strappy little white tank top. Brushing my hands along her arms, I watch her shiver.

“This apron . . .” I say, fingering the hem.

“Yeah?”

My hands dart up to her chest, then around her neck where it ties. But I don’t undo the knot. “There’s something I’m curious about.”

“What is it?”

As I fiddle playfully with the straps, I meet her eyes. “I can’t stop wondering how you’d look in just this apron on top.”

Her lips curve up in a naughty grin, and she reaches behind her. The little ping of a clasp coming undone lands on my ears, and I groan. She’s freeing her breasts from their confines. My body hums with anticipation. I lick my lips as I watch every move she makes. Now her hands slide up to her shoulders, and she performs something that looks a lot like circus acrobatics to me, but it’s one of those things girls can do blindfolded. She tugs one slim bra strap down her right arm and off. The other slides down her left arm. Then she slips her hands under her apron again and tells me to close my eyes. Dutifully, I oblige.

Fifteen seconds later, she says, “Open them.”

When I do, the white tank is pooled on the floor, and she holds up a lacy white bra, letting it dangle from her index finger. The apron top still covers her. “Is this what you wanted?”

“That is exactly what I wanted.”

I take the bra, toss it into the other room, and grab her hips. I lift her up on the counter and drink in the view.

Skirt, heels, and apron. Her breasts are barely covered, and for a man obsessed with breasts, you’d think I’d be fondling them right now. But I’m also not twelve. I want to savor the view. I want to admire my girl. I want to experience every fucking glorious second of this night, imprint it all on my brain, feed every memory cell I have.

I reach around her neck and tug at the apron tie. Her breath catches, and she trembles. A shudder runs through her body.

It gives me pause. “You okay?” I ask, because I can’t not. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m good. Just very, very good,” she says, tipping up her chin. Her eyes meet mine, and in a flash I see so much vulnerability, so much longing in them, it nearly knocks me to my knees. It almost makes me want to spill my whole heart to her, to tell her what I realized at Max’s garage. But if there’s a recipe for killing a friendship, that’s it, right there. When you add love to the mix—when you openly declare it—you might as well say good-bye to the friendship. We can be friends and we can have benefits, but anything more is playing with fire. I know this, and she surely does, too.

Tonight, we’re lovers.

That’s what I zone in on as I undo the apron tie.

The knot loosens. The straps slide. The fabric ties fall down her chest.

Dear God, she’s gorgeous. Her breasts are as magnificent as I imagined. Soft, creamy, gorgeous globes with rosy nipples, tipped up. I bend to her chest, draw one delicious peak into my mouth, and suck.

“Oh God,” she moans, and her hands grab the back of my head, clutching me tight.

Just when I think a moment can’t be more perfect, it proves me wrong.

This is beyond compare.

I cup the other breast in my left hand, squeezing, then pinching her nipple as I suck. A throaty groan meets my ears, then an anguished “please,” chased by a breathy “God, that’s so good.”

Yes, it’s so good. It’s so fucking good. It’s absolutely fucking amazingly exquisite to have my face buried between Josie’s tits. I could spend the next day, or week, or month here. In fact, when Mercy comes looking for me because I missed my next several shifts, they’ll find me squirreled away in the land of absolute bliss.

Here.

I make no apologies for my obsession. I don’t consider this a guilty pleasure, either, because I don’t feel a shred of guilt about something that drives both of us crazy. Judging from the way her fingers are locked around my skull, Josie loves the attention I’m lavishing on her chest as much as I love giving it. Her breath comes fast, and her hips wriggle on the counter as I lick and suck and kiss her breasts. She moans and sighs and murmurs.

At some point, maybe in the next century, I wrestle myself away and meet her gaze. I don’t let go of these beauties, though. I fondle them as I look at her, all flushed and sexy.

“Jesus Christ, Josie,” I say, just in awe of her. Everything. How she looks at me. How her lips fall open. How her eyes are guileless. The way she inches closer to me.

“I’m in love with—” I catch myself before I screw things up with her. “Your tits. They’re fucking perfect. I hope you don’t mind my adoration of them.” I flash her a lopsided grin.

She laughs. “I don’t mind it at all, and I’ll give you free rein with them if you do something for me.”