Page 21 of Good Enough

She whimpered.

“Ask,” he softly commanded.

“Touch me.”

“That’s not a question, sweetheart.”

“Will you touch me?”

The devilish smile deepened as he responded, “Oh, I will most definitely touch you.”

The three steps he took to her were the slowest steps ever taken.

He knelt at her feet, placing his palms on her knees, his thumbs softly caressing the inside of the joints.

She moaned.

“You like my hands on you.”

It wasn’t a question.

His hands slid up the tops of her thighs and reached under the tails of her shirt.

“You want me to kiss you.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Feather-light touches of his lips began at one knee and worked up to her pelvic bone.

He retreated and repeated the process up the other leg.

She watched as his face, aviators still on, turned up to her as he placed his final kiss.

He rose between her thighs like an ocean god from the surface of the water.

His hands reached for the shirt and pulled the panels away from her skin to fully view her beneath him in a bright red lace bra and matching panties.

One of his fingers reached out, touched her lips, then dragged itself down to her chin, the hollow of her throat, the valley of her breasts, her navel, and finally stopped at the small bow at the top of her panties.

His sunglasses returned from following the journey of his finger to her gaze.

“So beautiful.”

Taking in air became difficult, as if the atmosphere in the room were slowly squeezing her lungs.

“I want you, Kubrick.”

“Then have me, Waters.”

The smile disappeared.

His gaze returned to the bow.

Both hands slid to the thread of material at her hips, holding the lacy material in place.

His index fingers curled under the threads, and she felt every moment the material dragged down her thighs, past her knees, down her calves, around her ankles, and over her feet.

She didn’t see what he did with them because her eyes were paralyzed at the expression on his face.

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