Lily opens the linen closet, turning toward me to raise her eyebrows. "I thought that's exactly what you wanted to do," she says, her voice laced with innuendo.
And there it is. The second she says anything remotely sexual, my cock twitches, reminding me of exactly what I want to do with her. "You know me well."
Lily laughs as she steps into the bathroom, holding the washcloth under the tap. "Actually, that's not true at all. I know you hate Brussels sprouts, do the crossword, and have three brothers. And that you’re not an ex-convict. And that you look good in lipstick."
"You know more about me than most people." That's the honest truth.
She looks at me over her shoulder. "Actually, I do believe that."
"I hate mushrooms, too. A lot." I reach for the washcloth, but Lily steps close to me. "And I like building stuff. And working with leather.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Leather, huh? I thought you said you weren’t springing any weird fetishes on me.”
“I said I wouldn’t spring them on you,” I remind her. “I’m going to ease you in gently.”
She touches the cloth to the side of my cheek. “I can’t tell when you’re joking.”
“I know. It helps me maintain an air of mystery.”
She goes silent, dragging the cloth across my temple. "Chloe really did a number on you."
I close my eyes as she wipes off the eye shadow that has to be caked on an inch thick. "She's a pretty alright kid."
Lily laughs. "Yeah, she's not so bad. I think I'll keep her." She pauses for a second. "You didn't have to let her paint you up."
"I know." I stand still as Lily wipes the other side of my face and my eyelid. When she finishes, I open my eyes to see her right in front of me, the edge of the cloth in her hand.
"I bet this is the last thing on earth you thought you'd ever hear someone say to you, but you have lipstick on your beard," she says, laughing.
“I’ve heard it before,” I deadpan.
“Are you just waiting for me to beg you to tell me about the leather thing?” she asks, putting the edge of the cloth to my beard.
“I’m waiting for you to beg me in general.” My hands slide around her hips, and I pull her against me. “I’ll show you the leather stuff. It’s less kinky than it sounds.”
“I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.”
“I do leatherworking – custom saddles, that kind of thing. It’s always been a hobby. And, don’t worry. I don’t need leather to be kinky.”
“Oh, really?”
“Uh-huh.” I bring my lips down hard on hers, the way I’ve been thinking about nonstop since she left my cabin. Hell, I've been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since I met her, if I'm going to be honest about it. I haven't been able to get my mind off those lips.
Or the way her body melts against me. Or how her tongue responds to mine and she presses against me, her hips on my hardness.
When she moans, the sound half-muted by my mouth, it's my undoing. In an instant, I'm pulling her shirt over her head as her hands slip underneath mine. She yanks at my shirt, wordlessly demanding its removal, and I toss it onto the floor behind me. I slip off her bra, my mouth quickly replacing it as my tongue circles her nipples one at a time.
Her hands are at the back of my head and she moans softly as her nipples come to attention. When she pulls me up, demanding my mouth on hers again, there's nothing soft about it this time. I kiss her hungrily, my need for her unrelenting, and I have to tell myself to slow down because what I want to do is rip off her clothes and fuck the hell out of her right now.
Sliding my hands under her ass, I lift her easily, setting her onto the bathroom counter. She looks down at me, her hair tumbling forward and brushing against my face. Her face is flushed already, her lips smudged with bright red lipstick.
"I want you," she whispers, her eyes trained on me. The rumble that comes from my chest at her words surprises even me.
Those words. The ones I've been wanting to hear.
"Are you sure?" I ask, my voice clouded by my lust for her. I can hardly think rationally, but I know this girl deserves more than a frantic quickie in a bathroom.
But then she reaches for my jeans, pulling me forward as she flicks open the button and pulls. "I want you," she repeats.
"Here?" I should carry her upstairs and fuck her slowly on the bed in candlelight or some shit.
"Now."
Hell. How am I supposed to argue with that? I slide my hands underneath her skirt, along the outside of her thighs until I find her panties. "Your panties are wet," I note, dropping them onto the floor. "If I put my fingers between your legs, how wet am I going to find you?"
"Very." She tugs on the side of my jeans, demanding their removal. "But I don't want your fingers."