Page 54 of Unlikely

Hands on either side of my face, Zara’s deep brown eyes bore into mine. “Just promise to use your voice if and when you need to.” I nod, and she gently presses her lips to one side of my mouth and then the other before we’re kissing again, but this time there’s no frenzy and desperation.

The kiss is slow and sensual, full of respect and gratitude to the consent I’ve given her. “Sit down,” she murmurs against my lips. As I lower myself onto the bed, Zara takes a step back, putting some space between us. Surprising me, she toes off each of her high-heeled shoes and then undoes the button on her waistband before slowly dragging the zipper all the way down.

My eyes are glued to her, my heart pounding as she pushes her pants over her round hips and down her thighs. She’s beautiful, and not just in the inherent ways women are, but in a way that makes her stand out from the rest. Her every move is full of poise and conviction, like she’s so comfortable in her skin, she doesn’t ever think twice.

I want that.

I also want her.

I find myself clenching my thighs together, trying to dull the distracting throb between them. The move doesn’t go unnoticed and Zara smirks before effortlessly dragging her body suit up her torso and throwing it carelessly on the floor.

My eyes can’t decide which part of her I want to stare at more. I know, hand on my heart, I have never looked at any woman the way I’m looking at her, and my body has never wanted a woman the way I want her. It’s easy to get caught up in the hows and whys and why nots, but this isn’t the time for that. I don’t need the answers badly enough to make this moment about that.

I take in her figure wrapped in a black lace bra and matching thong, the way her breasts sit, full and heavy in each cup, the flat yet soft expanse of her stomach, and her smooth, toned thighs.

Her body is proof of life and experience, and I itch to have my hands on her, to feel her skin against mine, to become acquainted with the shape of her. These are things that are new and foreign.

When my eyes manage to find their way back to hers, I’m certain there’s no hiding just how mesmerized I am by her, just how captivated I am by her every move.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” I breathe out.

She bites the corner of her mouth to hide her smile, but the blush blooming on her cheeks makes me want to continue to compliment her to keep it there.

Without even giving myself a second to think about it, I raise my hands in the air, wanting to be as stripped bare as she is. Wordlessly, she steps forward in understanding, hooking her fingers underneath the edge of my tight crop top and dragging it up and over my head.

If Zara is surprised by my naked chest, her face shows no signs. My top is tight enough and my boobs are small enough that a bra is unnecessary, except now that means there is nothing hiding how hard my nipples are.

Trying not to get sidetracked by how exposed I am, I channel my own version of Zara—confident and carefree—and rise up off the bed and glance down at my shorts.

“Can I?” Zara asks.

Nodding, I hold my breath as I watch her deftly undo the vertical line of buttons and then glance back up at me, her eyes asking for permission, asking for more. Wrapping my arms around her neck, I tilt my head and press my mouth to hers, giving her the permission she’s seeking, and then some. Her tongue wraps around mine as her hands settle on my ribs, thumbs skimming the underside of my breasts, teasing me in the most subtle of ways.

Hands move down to my backside, pushing my shorts and stockings down to my thighs, leaving me in black lace boy shorts. She glides her fingers across the front of my underwear, and my breath hitches at just how good her feather-light touch feels.

“Do that again,” I whisper against her lips.

I lower my gaze to watch as she rubs my clit through the lace, my head falling to her shoulder, my body slowly losing the ability to stand up on its own.

“I can feel how wet you are through your panties,” she says into my ear. “Is that for me?”

I let out a strained chuckle before admitting, “Yeah, that’s definitely for you.”

“Give me your dominant hand.” I immediately drop my right arm from her neck and put my hand in hers.

She guides my fingers to the apex of her thighs, the damp spot between her legs eliciting a low “Fuuuck” from my lips. “Is that for me?” I ask, echoing her question and mirroring her movements.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” she pants. “That’s definitely for you.”

As if there’s an elastic band wrapped around our restraint, and the evidence of our pleasure is all we need to let go, Zara’s mouth slams onto mine and we tumble clumsily onto the mattress. We fumble with my shorts and stockings, both of us now in nothing but our underwear. We move to the center of the bed, me up on my elbows, Zara raised up on her knees, peering down at me.

She glances down at my underwear and then raises her brow at me in question. Running on lust alone, I ask her the same wordless question but keep my eyes on her tits.

She winks at me, slowly dragging each strap over her shoulders as I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties and drag them off my legs. I’m naked and exposed, completely vulnerable, and yet I’ve never felt so safe and secure in my life. She lets her bra fall to the bed, along with her thong, and that slight bounce of her breasts, her necklace hanging between them, makes me want them in my mouth.

That’snew.

I hold my hand out to her, and when she places her hand in mine, I pull her to me till she’s on all fours on top of me, her mouth on mine, her tits lined up perfectly with mine. She has her thigh right between my legs, and I can’t help the way my body rocks against her.

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