His mouth swallows the remainder of my answer. With his body pressed against mine, he lifts me up onto the counter, his hands spreading my legs for him to nestle between them. God, the way his hardness is prodding makes me feel a frantic need to rid us both of our clothing.
His fingers tug the hem of my shirt up and over my head, leaving me in my sports bra which he, too, immediately pulls off. I’m sitting there on his kitchen counter, topless, and at any other time I’d be feeling utterly self-conscious. What makes this different is the way Foster’s looking at me, the way his eyes make me feel while they take in my bare breasts, as though he’s perusing a work of art. When his hands cup the weight of them before running the pads of his thumbs over the tips of my puckered nipples, I can’t resist arching into his touch as I watch his face. The moment his eyes meet mine, those whiskey colored eyes bright and burning with lust, I become brazen like never before.
Sliding a hand to the nape of his neck, I direct him, bringing him closer to me, to my aching nipples, arching farther into him, silently begging him to put his mouth on me. And he doesn’t disappoint me.
His lips latch on to one nipple while he plucks at the other with his thumb and forefinger. But his eyes… God, those eyes continue to watch me the entire time, not missing anything, as though my reactions are turning him on even more.
The moment his hand slides down my body, down to my center, ducking beneath the leg of my shorts to run against my core, I know I’m lost to this man. Lost to the way he makes me feel. Lost to the way he protects others—going above and beyond. Lost to the man—the sweet, kind-hearted, loyal man—who hides all of those traits behind his thick, protective walls.
I’m lost to his body calling out to mine.
When his finger slides inside of me, my gasp turns into a moan as he continues his assault on my nipple, his tongue flicking against the tip within the heat of his mouth all while thrusting a thick, long finger in and out of me. He adds another finger, and I feel that delicious stretch, feel myself get wetter, slicker with arousal. It isn’t until he speaks against my breast, his hot breath washing over my skin, eyes still locked on mine as if he doesn’t want to—can’t bear to—miss my reaction to his words.
“Your pussy is so fucking smooth.” His golden eyes watch me and I can’t hold back the shiver they elicit. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue.” He pauses to flick the end of my nipple with his tongue before saying, “Until you come so hard you’ll still feel it tomorrow.”
My inner muscles clench around his fingers and the smile he gives me is nothing short of predatory.
“I’ll take that as a sign of your acceptance.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Foster
I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that I’m choosing to do this now, with Noelle. Or why.
Wrapping an arm around her, tugging her closer as my other hand cups the back of her head to bring her in for another kiss. The moment I lift her off the counter, her legs instinctively wrap tightly around my waist.
Making my way to my bedroom, I don’t stop until I’m a foot from my bed and lower her to her feet. Letting my hand graze her body, trailing over her breast, one thumb casually swipes over a nipple, continuing downward to toy with her cotton shorts. Pushing them down her legs, I lower myself, tugging them the remainder of the way off. That’s when I realize I’ve hit the motherlode.
She’s waxed and so smooth I can’t help but drag my lips along her skin, reveling in the softness, in her scent. When my lips graze over her clit, I hear her sharp intake of breath and once my fingers slide back inside her wet heat, it’s even better than it was just moments before.
Wetness. Hot, tight, wetness. As my fingers work inside of her, my other hand grips her hip, feeling the tremors my touch sends throughout her body. Her hands are on my shoulders, gripping them and I glance up to see her head tipped back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as my fingers slide in and out of her.
Slowly pulling my fingers out, I wait for her eyes to meet mine. The moment her hazy blue eyes meet mine, I slide my fingers inside my mouth, savoring the taste before removing them slowly.
“I can’t wait to taste your sweet pussy,” I murmur, guiding her back onto the bed before leaning closer, brushing my lips over her center. “Better hold on tight.”
“Wha—Oh, my God,” she breathes out when I hook her legs over my shoulders, leaning in and burying my tongue deep inside of her. And, fuck, she tastes good. The logical part of me wants to argue it’s because I haven’t tasted a pussy in a long time. Far longer than I can account for because I never go down on a woman. Never. They’re temporary and it just seems too personal. It’s a quirk of mine, no doubt, especially since I sure as shit haven’t had any qualms about women giving me head if they wanted.