Page 59 of How to Score Off Field

I’m only at the edge of it because I had wanted to adjust the television set; it’s sitting atop the dresser but at an odd angle and I just thought...

I thought…

I…

Tess tries to skirt around me but somehow, my hands end up on her hips. To assist her? To stop her?

No idea.

Legs spread, I pull her close.

I must have had more alcohol than I realized or maybe she had more alcohol than she’d planned or maybe…

She bends her head. Leans in, pressing her pelvis against the apex of my spread thighs, tentatively kissing the tip of my nose. Featherlight kisses on my cheekbones.

My eyes briefly flutter closed, palms spread, running up and down her bare ass. It’s smooth and fits perfectly in my hands.

Tess Donahue.

Little Tess Donahue…

…is kissing me on the mouth and when I open mine to kiss her back, a jolt of electricity runs down the back of my spine. A totally unexpected jolt. It zaps my dick, too, and he comes to life. Twitches in these boxer shorts that aren’t mine so there’s barely room for him to grow, but somehow, he manages.

I open my mouth.

She opens hers.

Tongue.

So much slow tongue. I never knew I liked French kissing this much, and it spurns me on. My hands move north, traveling from her bare butt cheeks to her rib cage.

Tess has her hands on my shoulders. Those move, too, until they’re behind my head, nails lightly scratching the back of my neck as she kisses me.

I pull her closer, still.

Fingers flirting with the hem of her thin camisole or tank top or whatever this excuse for a shirt is, the fabric as silky as her skin, and I run my hands beneath it—tentatively at first.

It doesn’t take long for the tips of my fingers to brush the underside of her tits. Trail along her smooth flesh. Thumbs grazing.

Then my hands cover her tits.

They fill my palms perfectly, just as those few times I’d imagined what they look like, feel like, taste like. Damn, it’s been an age since I’ve felt boobs—and all the reasons I had tried to date with intention last year rushed back, sex being one of them.

Sex.

Affection.

Physical touch.

All the same thing, basically just marketed differently.

I groan when her nails scratch my scalp. Fuck, that feels good…

She groans when I pinch her nipple, and now I want to see what her boobs look like, reaching to lift the hem of her ‘barely there’ shirt over her head.

Damn.

The view does not disappoint and neither does the weight of her breasts in my hands.

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