Page 46 of Mom-Com
“I love you too, Lily-Marie. So much.” Then his mouth was crushing me, crushing the essay between our bodies. He was wild, lost in this moment with me.
Then he was gone.
The cold air hit me and I opened my eyes to see him standing upright again, shoving his pants down his legs. Then his boxers and socks. The scene was like a present being opened slowly, the wrapping paper carefully peeled back and folded when all I wanted to do was rip it all off and consume my gift.
Those legs I’d wanted to touch when I’d seen him in his cycling shorts that first day. Those smoldering gray eyes that said I was his everything no matter what ridiculous thing I happened to be doing. That dark hair I couldn’t wait to run my fingers through and mess up. The abs I’d counted in the dressing room for the first time, amazed they were real.
It was all a gift. Just for me. Jameson was mine.
His cock stole the show, bobbing as he stalked back to me, its tip brushing against his stomach. My thighs clenched in anticipation, becoming so very needy. He was beautiful.
“Stand up.” He stood at the foot of the bed, palming his dick, so sure I’d follow his command.
Which was smart, because, let’s get real. What woman wouldn’t follow his orders right now? I’d do lots of questionable things to get my hands and mouth on that cock tonight.
I tossed the essay over the side of the bed and scooted over to stand as quickly as possible, now toe to toe with Jameson. As badly as I wanted to reach for him, I kept my hands by my sides, wanting to see what else would come out of that mouth of his.
“Turn around.”
Turning, he unzipped my dress and helped it fall to the ground.
He paused and I could feel his gaze trailing down the length of my body, looking his fill. And more than ever, I wished I’d followed the one thing on my list I’d ignored: go on a diet. He was a specimen with all his easily identifiable muscles. I bet he was a hit in anatomy class in college: a living, breathing diagram. And then there was me, a mom of two with socially unacceptable curves and lumps and stretch marks. My only saving grace was I’d bought a black lace thong and bra this afternoon on the urging of my best friend.
“No pink underwear?” Jameson’s voice was barely above a rumble, a hint of disappointment that had me confused.
“Huh?”
“That day in your home-sewn skirt. You flashed me and you had on pink cotton underwear. Do you have any idea how many fantasies I’ve had with you in that pair of underwear?”
A rush of warmth filled me, transforming me into a goddess who straightened her spine and pushed out her breasts with pride. “I don’t know why you say you have a problem with words. You say the absolute most perfect things.”
A fingertip started at my neck, traced down my spine, unhooked my bra, and kept traveling south to the lacy scrap at my hip. I felt his touch all the way down to my toes.
Thumbs hooked into the sides of my thong and tugged downward. “Step out.”
As he crouched down behind me, I did just that, also allowing my bra to slide off my arms to lie in a heap with my dress. He pressed his face to each of my thighs, his lips and tongue gliding their way back up my body. I shivered and gasped.
I expected his hands to find their way to my breasts, but instead, Jameson detoured to my hair, rapidly pulling out pins and tossing them to the floor until my hair cascaded down my back.
“Finally,” he muttered, his hands brushing through the long strands. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”
I turned and sat, aware of the close proximity of my mouth to his straining cock. I wanted a taste, just a small taste, but when I bent forward, Jameson pulled back and shook his head.
He dipped to his knees and pulled my knees apart. And then he knelt there, just looking his fill. I was embarrassed by his stare, but also incredibly turned on by it.
He glanced up, eyes so very dark. “I want to worship your body. Can I do that, princess?”
Before I could answer, he dipped his head, his broad shoulders spreading my legs farther. He dove in like a man possessed, his tongue and mouth working me over with no reprieve. A deep groan reverberated through me and I flopped back onto the bed. I was limp, all nerve endings having left their job stations to run between my legs and get in on the action.
A thick finger entered me, followed by a second, filling me and making me burn for more. An orgasm was right there on the edge of my attention, ramping up speed and power, waiting to decimate.
But Jameson had other ideas. He pulled out and stood up. I blinked rapidly, trying to catch up and figure out where the hell he went. I found him staring down at me, spread eagle on the bed, sucking on his fingers. A fierce blush spread across my cheeks.
He popped his fingers out and barked out more orders. “Stand up on the bed.”
“Huh?” I was quite the linguist when close to orgasm.
He just tilted his head, daring me to follow his instructions. I was dazed, but not so confused that I didn’t understand my orgasm hinged in the balance here. I scrambled inelegantly to my feet again—not an easy feat in stilettos—this time climbing up on the bed and standing there, waiting for more.
