“Like English royalty?”
“Well, yeah,” she whispers, her lips turning to a slight frown and the blush from her cheeks creeping across her face and down her neck. “Since I don’t date, I don’t … well, you know … so she thought this would be a good way to release some tension.”
I resist the smile tugging on my lips because I don’t want her to think I’m making fun of her, but damn if she isn’t the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“It seems to me this book would only serve to build up more tension, but what do I know?” I keep my voice in the most serious tone I can muster.
“She’s ordering me something for that, too,” she says before slamming her hand over her mouth, completely shocked by what she just revealed.
“Oh no you don’t,” I order, pulling her hand from her mouth. “You can’t drop a bomb and clam up on me. Celia Lemaire are you getting a—”
She turns her head, closes her eyes, and scrunches her face. The thought of Celia lying in her bed, reading a smutty book, with a battery-operated device has my dick at attention and blood coursing through my veins at high speed. I want to throw my hands up in the air, hollering, “I volunteer as tribute!” This little project has my name written all over it, but she just doesn’t know it yet.
“Uh uh,” I say as I tug her chin up and make her meet my eyes. I continue my questioning with a scandalous whisper. “Are you getting a … vibrator?”
“Ugh! If there is a God, will He please swallow me up into the ground to avoid this embarrassment? I think I’m going to die,” she cries as she covers her face with both hands and nosedives into my lap.
Watch your aim, little fairy, or you’re about to get WAY more than you bargained for!
I stealthily shift my position to keep her from bumping my boner. It’s been only a day since my vow to man up and make my move. But I don’t think this situation could be any more perfect. Celia, head in my lap, already primed with a lady boner thanks to Duke Hamptonshire?
Thank you, universe. I owe you for this one.
“Tink, I promise, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. The thought of you with a sexy book and a vibrator is enough ammunition to fuel my private time for the next few months. That image will be in the top file of my spank bank, for sure,” I say with a chuckle.
She shoots up from my lap, giggling and slapping my shoulder playfully. “Cain, what a thing to say!”
She stands up beside me and tugs her tiny, button-down shirt into place. I can feel my window of opportunity closing. The breeze is fading away, and the latch is about to swing shut. It’s now or never.
Fuck it.
I throw out all pretenses and give her ass a quick slap, and she squeals at the contact. I reach across and grab her by the hip, pulling her into my lap. She gasps in surprise, but doesn’t pull away. I run the tip of my nose along the slim line of her neck, stopping right below her ear.
“You know, I’m always more than willing to release any … tension you may have, and darlin’, batteries are not required. I’m at your service,” I whisper softly as I reach around her waist and flick open the first button of her shirt. My lips trace the outline of her ear as her chest heaves with ragged breaths. “Just say the word, Celia, and this stops.”
When her head drops back to my shoulder, and she buries her face in my neck, I take that as my green light and keep on flicking shirt buttons. When the final button breaks free, red fabric falls to the side to reveal the perfection that is Celia—milky, white skin and black lace.
Holy fuck, she’s even more gorgeous than I imagined.
I lightly run my fingers over her stomach, dipping slightly in the curve of her belly button. Her skin is velvety soft, quivering faintly as my calloused fingers make contact. The span of my hands easily takes up her entire torso, so I meet the edge of her bra in no time. I see those tight nipples straining, hard points pushing against black lace. They’ve got nothing on my dick—I swear I’m hard enough to chop wood with the fucking thing. I’m pretty sure I’ve left a permanent indentation in her ass.
As my hands lightly brush her nipples, I feel the pressure of her teeth on my neck, and her tongue follows closely behind. Each stroke of her tongue is a flame on my skin, setting me on fire over and over. I curl my fingers under the black lace and tug, pushing her bra underneath those gorgeous tits, leaving them just how I like it—pushed up and on full display.
I circle each of her nipples at a tortuous pace—so slow, so gentle. “Do you want me ... here?” I ask as I grab her tits in earnest and tweak her nipples.
She moans in response, lifting one of her arms and grasping behind my neck. “Yes, yes,” she whispers with each breath, her ass writhing in my lap.
I shift my head to crash into her panting lips—a tangle of tongues, teeth, and bated breaths. The sliding of our tongues, the push of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as I tease her nipples into stiffened peaks; they all contribute to a rhythm that will likely be the death of me.
I release her nipples, which earns me a whimper, and slide my hands down the curve of her waist and over the crinkly fabric of her skirt. When I hit her thighs, I start my ascent into the promise land. The fingernails digging into the back of my neck and the slight shiver running through her body tells me she approves. When I hit the seam of her panties, which takes a while, because they are indeed thongs (Hell yes!), I swat her hip playfully.
“Up. Lift that gorgeous ass for me.” As she leaves my lap, I could cry at the loss. “Good girl.”
As she rises up, I ever so slowly slide her skirt and panties down, taking the opportunity to place each of her legs on the outside of mine. When her panties fall to the floor, I spread my legs apart, taking hers with me. Just the way I want her; open and ready for me. I pull my lips away from hers as I raise her other arm behind my neck and look into her hooded blue eyes.
“Hands stay here, or I stop. Understand?” My mouth brushes against hers as I speak, and her lips reach for me, but I back away each time, needing the words.
“Yes, I-I understand,” she whispers, and only then do I grab her bottom lip and suck.
Honestly, I don’t usually play with so many rules. I like to swing by the seat of my pants, or lack thereof, as the case may be. I like a woman to do what she feels in the moment. But, in this case, without much provocation on her part, Celia will end up feeling a giant wet spot on her ass. I don’t intend on earning the nickname Quick Draw Cain today. Not on my watch.
Before I begin, I make a show of pulling away from her lips to lick my fingers, and she watches every movement, mesmerized and slack-jawed. One hand stops at her tits while the other continues the journey down … way down. I slide a finger through her slit and find her wet and ready.
“Oh, ooooh,” she moans into my mouth, her forehead falling to mine. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I’m thinking you should tell Marlo you don’t need a Duke. I’m thinking a country boy might do the trick, don’t you?”
“Mmmmhmmmm,” she half-whispers, half-moans, as my hand lightly brushes over her, just barely making contact. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes roll back as I brush across her clit.
And then I start the slow torture, both hands sliding up and down her body—tweaking, brushing, teasing, but never enough contact to satisfy. I caress the underside of her breasts before pinching those hard nipples. I run my hands down to her knees and slowly up the inside of her thighs. I sweep the tips of my fingers through her drenched and ready lips as she cries out.
And then I start the process over again. And again. And then again.