Page 129 of The ABCs of You & Me

I shake my head, frantically wiping the tears away. “Nothing. Well, no, everything, but it’s good. These are good, overwhelmed, joyous, blissfully happy, very turned-on tears.” The worry begins to disappear from his face, a small smile appearing in its place. I take his face in my hands, holding him steady so he’s staring back at me. “You. You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

A tear slips down his cheek and I bend to kiss it away, his hands tightening on my waist as my lips connect with his skin. “Don’t cry,” I whisper against his cheek.

He draws my head back smiling. “These are good, overwhelmed, joyous—” He can’t make it through my speech before his lips are back on mine. “Blissfully happy, fucking turned-on tears,” he finally grits out when my hands slip beneath his shirt.

The kiss is interrupted when I pull his shirt up and over his head and then I sit back and admire the view in front of me.

“Fuck, have I mentioned before how hot you are?” I swoon. When I manage to pull my gaze from his chest, I catch the blush spreading, like an ink stain to his hairline. Lifting my right hand, I trace the hint of color over his ear with the tip of my finger.

His eyes flutter shut, his head tipped back, mouth slightly open as I comb my fingers through his hair. His hands shift to my thighs, squeezing in time with the movement of my hands. I look down again and watch his chest rise and fall, an idea forming at the back of my mind.

“Stay put,” I purr against his lips before sliding off his lap, a sound of protest rising from deep within him.

It takes me no time to find what I’m looking for. A bowl of red sits on the counter with a spoon partially submerged. I grab both, and when I turn back toward the living room the look of realization that crosses Foster’s face has me nearly throwing the bowl down and throwing myself at him.

He grins wickedly as I come to a stop in front of him. “What you got there, sunshine?”

Saying nothing, I straddle him again, holding the bowl to the side as I lean forward and take his bottom lip between my teeth. When I pull back, his lips chase mine, but I don’t give in. I lay my hand on his chest and push him back and tip his chin so when I hold the spoon above him he knows what to do.

The red liquid steadily drips toward his mouth, most landing inside but the odd drop sliding over his lip and down his chin. I repeat the process a few times until the drops travel down his neck onto his chest. That’s when I set the bowl aside, slide to the floor, lean forward, and lick up his body. His breath catches the minute my tongue touches him, his hips jumping beneath my chest so I can feel exactly how turned on he is.

Foster’s hands land in my hair, and in one swift motion I rip them away, sitting back, my hands around his wrists. “No touching, Mr. Walsh.” His eyes widen and a tiny surprised laugh escapes, but he nods his agreement. I release my grip, moving my hands to the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down. “I love how hard you are for me,” I murmur, tracing a finger up his length, watching the way it follows my touch. “So responsive,” I use his words on him, listening to the tiny sounds he makes in response, watching as he fights to not touch me.

Reaching for the bowl, I drizzle more onto his skin, watching it trail down the lines of his body before finally allowing myself to go back in. I collect the strawberry juice on my tongue, and when I pull back, let it slip through my lips onto his cock before taking him in my mouth.

A faint “Fuuuuck” comes from above me, and I smile as he pushes himself further into my mouth. I hum my approval as he begins a steady rhythm, fucking my mouth. I watch his fist clench out of the corner of my eye, imagining what that hand will do to me when I finally let him touch me. With one final hard suck, I release him and crawl up his strawberry-stained body. His hands remain on the couch, his breathing ragged, eyes clenched shut as I rock into him.

“Foster.” His eyes pop open, revealing pupils that are blown wide. “Touch me.” I don’t need to ask twice.

FIFTY-SEVEN

FOSTER

I’ve got her shirt and bra off in no time, and then she’s on her back, bared for me. There are so many things I want to do with her at this moment, and I need to pause so I can settle on one of them. The strawberry coulis is practically screaming at me from where she left it on the table, and I treat her body like a canvas, splattering and dripping the viscous red liquid from her lips to her bellybutton.

Sophie watches every move I make, and every so often I see her tongue nearly sneak out for a taste of the rogue coulis that sits in the center of her bottom lip. “That’s mine, sunshine,” I warn her when I think she’s about to give in and I watch as her tongue curls back in her mouth. That tongue that just did delicious things to my body.

I briefly admire my handywork, committing the way the coulis looks on her pale skin to memory, before dropping to swirl my tongue around a nipple, sucking it into my mouth, letting her sounds of pleasure wash over me. She whines when my tongue leaves her skin, her back arching as if trying to convince me to return. I don’t need convincing.

Her fingers wrap around my hair, pulling at the strands, a satisfying sting traveling across my scalp.

“Please, Foster,” she begs and my hands get to work on her tights while my tongue licks the last of the coulis at the base of her throat, right at her collar bone. It’s like I touched her with a live wire. Her legs wrap around my hips and she drags me against her, impeding all progress I was making.

I’m able to pull my hands away before my body crashes down onto hers. “Fuuuuck,” I gasp as she writhes beneath me. It’s impossible to ignore the heat coming off her body and it only makes me desperate to get closer, to be closer.

“Want you,” Sophie gasps as my cock slides over her clit, the sensation of the fabric between us only adding to the need to get out of these pants.

I sit back, pulling her up with me in one swift motion, then I’m on my feet, charging toward my bedroom. I’ve never been so happy to have a small apartment as I reach my bed in six strides.

After I lay her down I step back to look at her. Her hair is fanned out around her head, fucking sunshine blazing back at me.

“Wait.” Sophie sits up, her hands landing on mine as they curl around the top of her pants. I try to stand and step back, but her grip keeps me frozen in place. “Um.” She suddenly looks nervous, her eyes dancing around the area around me but never landing on me.

“What is it, Soph?” My voice is calm, despite my racing heart and the raging erection I’m sporting.

“Rip them?” she asks then shakes her head. “Rip them,” she says again as a demand and not a question.

I stare back, not entirely sure I understand what she’s asking me to do. “Rip…” I look down at her tights, my mouth instantly watering because I know what they’re hiding. “Your pants?”

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