Page 34 of Just a Little Crush
“I was thinking about you.”
“What about me?”
“This. You. Your fingers.”
“These fingers?” He slips two inside me with ease and I clench around them, thick and firm. I don’t know whether to focus on the way he slowly strokes inside me, or the sensation of his tongue sweeping up my neck to that sensitive, heavenly spot behind my ear.
He slips his knee between mine, opening me up further. His fingers push deeper until he’s cupping me so tightly that his palm rubs against my clit.
“How are you so good at this?” I say, my hips rolling.
“Because I know you.”
He hooks my leg over his and rolls me onto my back. Letting go of my hair, he stretches his arm underneath me, reaching down to tug my shirt up. Finding my nipple, he rolls it between his fingers and when he pinches firmly, everything inside me tightens. I didn’t know I liked that so much. I turn my head towards his and find him in his own state of bliss. His eyes are closed, he looks relaxed and sleepy as his fingers keep up their slow, delicious exploration. This is a different Rennie to the one who carried me to bed on Sunday night. That Rennie took control of my body and drove me to orgasm full-throttle. This one is unhurried, on a leisurely quest for pleasure. I could let him touch me like this for hours, but the fire within me is building fast.
“Rennie...” I stroke his cheek with my thumb.
“Mmm?” When he opens his eyes, they lock onto mine. I feel a dull ache, a longing for him that comes from deep within. I’ve felt it before. In the woods twelve summers ago. Under mistletoe at the Thatch Cross Jingle Jamboree. When he held my face after pulling me from the wreck of my car. It’s a need for him to see me, to see me more deeply than anyone else does.
“You haven’t kissed me,” I whisper.
His eyebrows dance up in surprise, a little moan from the back of his throat. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Of course. I mean, only if you want to—“
He cuts me off, crashing his mouth to mine. All I can do is moan against his warm lips, and mine tingle when he moans back. I gasp in shock, awe, bliss, and he opens too, his tongue finding its way to mine. Sweeping and exploring. Tasting and devouring. My hands find their way into his hair and I pull him even closer. It’s impossible to tell who is kissing who here. I tell him without words how much I need this, and he tells me right back.
This is not a kiss between friends. This is more. The only way I can describe it is that it feels like home.
Beneath the covers, my legs squeeze around his hand, but he withdraws his fingers and pushes them apart again. I ache at the loss of his touch, but not for long. His fingertips find my clit and he strikes up those firm, lazy circles that drove me wild the other night.
I’m already so close, hanging by a thread after a night spent in my filthy brain. Rennie with his hand in my underwear and his tongue in my mouth is almost too much to bear.
He breaks the kiss I never wanted to end, then pulls back a little and stares into my eyes. “Go baby, come.”
I grip his arm, that big, firm bicep, with both hands. My fingers barely meet, and I cling on for dear life as white heat ripples through me. My hips buck against his hand, that tight band in my core stretching and stretching until it snaps, sending my orgasm spiraling through me. Rennie doesn’t let up. His circles grow firmer, faster, tighter, and I’m completely helpless to do anything but shake and choke out his name as my first orgasm slams straight into another.
I guess we are still doing this then, and that’s absolutely fine by me. I can’t think of a better way to spend this period of confinement than hopping into bed with him every chance I get. Rennie still hasn’t let me touch him, though. After he fell asleep, I dozed with him for a while before getting up. I’ve been watching TV in the living room ever since, fretting about whether or not to give him this list.
This is insane, right? Actually insane. Part of me is terrified to let him know what goes on in my mind. I’ve read so much smut over the years that my benchmark for ‘normal’ is highly skewed. The other part of me is fucking delighted. The way that he’s been with me so far, that’s exactly what I’ve been craving. Maybe this list is a way to finally get a little bit more of what I want. He’s a horny guy, I’m a horny gal, what have we got to lose? Oh yeah, 30 plus years of friendship, that’s all.
He’s going to leave soon, and if I don’t do it now, I’ll lose every ounce of courage I have.
“I left something on the kitchen counter for you,” I blurt out as he laces up his boots for his second night shift. He crosses the room and picks up the folded paper.
“Is this a love letter?” he laughs, opening it up.
“If you’re hoping for romance, you’ll be disappointed.”
I watch him closely as he starts to read, and though his expressions remain stoic, his grip tightens like he’s holding a winning lottery ticket. It’s not long until his eyes widen and I can’t stop smirking.
“Jesus Bec,” he drags his hands over his face and groans heavily. I wonder which part it was that broke him. The spanking? Maybe the blindfolded edging? Probably the fucking in the woods thing. Fortunately, I left out the bit about doing it in a wedding dress. I haven’t completely lost my mind.
“You said you wanted to hear it.”
“I did.” He folds it up quickly and shoves it in the inside pocket of his coat. “I do, but I can’t read this right now though unless I want to die from a boner in the next 12 hours.”
“Well. It’s yours to do with as you wish.”
