Page 12 of The Couch Where It Happens

I took the step to close the gap between us. “Take off my shirt.”

He released himself and raised his hands to undo the fabric knot where I’d tied the sides of my shirt over my stomach, and then his fingers pinched the collar.

I didn’t help at all. I couldn’t tear my gaze off the erection crossing the space between us. If I shifted my hips, I thought it would brush my waist, but we had a game, he and I. He would do what I told him, and exactly that, so I waited.

His fingers lay heavily on my shirt, the heat searing through the cotton as if it wasn’t there. His thumbs brushed across my upper arms as he slid the sleeves down my shoulders, pulling closer to me to get the shirt to drop. When it whispered over my hands and hit the floor, he paused.

“Now my bikini.” I liked giving him orders more than I had ever guessed I would.

The tie behind my neck was easy for him, and the cups fell forward, revealing my breasts. He froze, heavy hands weighing on my neck, and stared down at my chest. My nipples were as tight and hard as they’d ever been, pointing for him. His lips parted, but he didn’t move.

I hadn’t told him to.

“You’re not finished.” My voice was husky with need, and I wondered if he could even speak.

His hands glided down my spine until they found the tie in the middle of my back. I felt a slight tug, my top dropped away, and then his hands returned to his sides.

I could set him free to touch me, but I didn’t. As much as I wanted him to palm me and roll me like one of those lines he’d coiled, a stronger part of me wanted to continue our game. When I placed my right hand on the center of his chest, I couldn’t span the distance between his nipples. His skin was taut and smooth, and the hair under my palm was surprisingly soft. I could quit the game and explore him, move this back to the predictable, but he looked at me with such wonder. So much mastery over himself.

I pushed his chest. “Sit.”

He sank obediently next to the stack of clothing on the love seat. I watched those abs when his body curved into the cushions, and I wanted to trace the ridges and valleys that resulted. He spread his legs, and I stepped between them until the front of the couch stopped me. The taut skin over his cheekbones was flushed like the color spreading up his neck. He was spectacular.

Mostly, though, I stared at his cock. So long. So thick. It jutted away from his lap, up his stomach, but it wasn’t at rest. Looking at it, I wondered how my own legs kept me standing.

“My shorts.” I didn’t have to say more.

His hands settled on my hips, and his thumbs rested above the waistband of my shorts. I’m Greek, and I spend a lot of afternoons tanning, but his hands were almost as dark as my stomach, even though he was blond. I had never been so obsessed with thumbs, but his were amazing. Something about their shape worked for me. When they dipped belowthe waistband to circle my navel, they felt rough, but not like sandpaper.

He slipped the metal button free, and I felt a momentary release, but desire clenched my stomach with each brush of his fingers. The rasp of my zipper being lowered drew the fine hairs on my arms to alert. I didn’t wait for him to pull my shorts down before I choked out, “Panties too.”

At that, his palms skimmed from my hips, down my thighs, and past the outside of my knees as he lowered my shorts and white underwear together. I kicked both aside.

He leaned forward until I felt the warm air from his mouth stirring the tiny little hairs across my stomach. He wasn’t breathing on my mound, wasn’t touching me except on the outside of my legs, but I was electrified.

“Tell me what you want.” I didn’t inflect my voice like I was asking a question, because I figured he wanted the boss lady.

His reply was an incoherent sound as his hands came up to grip my hips and angle my stomach and pussy closer to his face. I saw his nostrils flare. He was inhaling my scent.

“Tell me.” I sounded firmer the second time I said it.

“This.” The word sounded like he’d forced it from the deepest recess inside himself.

I dropped my hands to his shoulders and couldn’t believe the tension he contained. When his mouth touched the spot below my belly button where my tan line slashes, I moaned. One single brush of his lips made me fucking moan. He shifted his head, those lips traveling like the sun along the demarcation between my palest skin and my summer tan, but not dropping lower.

He moved so slowly, making me frantic to have more of his mouth. I thrust my hand through the hair on top of his head, the only place it was long enough to grab, and pushed him to go lower. I could have explored the shape of his skull for a long time, but we didn’t have that leisure. We had one night.

“What else?” I was losing control. “Tell me what else you want.”

So slowly that at first, I thought I might have imagined it, his hand reached to my naked pussy, and he laid two big fingers across me, between my legs. Not exploring, just resting on me. My hips jerked forward and back, and then again, rubbing myself along his unmoving fingers.

“Is that it? You just want to touch me?”

“I want…” He paused with his face pressed into my stomach, and I thought his hand twitched. His next words were hard to hear. “To learn.” He fumbled a little, but didn’t push inside, even though I kept rubbing my slit on his fingers.

“What do you want to learn?” I whispered. He couldn’t know that in real life, I’m a teaching assistant, and yet he’d made the perfect request.

His lips moved against my sensitive skin, making it difficult to understand his answer. “To give pleasure.”

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