Page 25 of Cipher's Baby Girl
When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I gasp, allowing him entry. The first slide of his tongue against mine sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. My hands fist in his shirt, trying to anchor myself as sensation threatens to overwhelm me.
"Christ, the taste of you," he groans against my mouth. “I can’t get enough. Never enough.”
His confession emboldens me. I press closer, my body flush against his, feeling his hardness against my stomach. The knowledge that I affect him like that—that his body responds to mine—is intoxicating.
His hands move down my back to my hips, gripping firmly as he walks me backward until my knees hit the bed. He breaks the kiss, his breathing as ragged as my own, eyes dark with desire.
“If you want me to stop, tell me now," he says, voice strained. "Tell me now, and I'll walk away. I won't touch you again."
The thought of him leaving, of returning to that cold distance, is unbearable. "Don't stop," I whisper. "Please."
A fierce hunger flashes in his eyes. “I’m not sure you know what you're asking for, Baby Girl."
"Then show me." I reach for the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head before I can lose my nerve. The cool air pebbles my skin as I stand before him in just my bra and jeans.
His gaze rakes over me, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, the single word making me flush with pleasure. "So fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you."
His hands hover over my skin, not quite touching.
“Um, I’ve never..." I start, then falter.
"I know, sweetheart." His expression softens. "I'll take care of you. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
The tenderness in his voice nearly undoes me. The look in his eyes—as though I’m something to be cherished. "I want everything with you,” I admit. “Everything.”
He growls low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "You'll have it, Baby Girl. Every fucking thing you want."
His fingers trace the curve of my collarbone, trailing down to the swell of my breasts above my plain cotton bra. "I need to hear you, need you to tell me what feels good."
I nod, unable to form words as his fingers slip beneath the straps of my bra, sliding them down my shoulders. He reaches behind me, unhooking the clasp with ease, then pauses, giving me time to object. When I don't, he slowly removes the garment, exposing my small breasts to his heated gaze.
Self-consciousness washes over me. I'm not voluptuous like Angel or curvy like Sophie. My breasts are small, and although I’ve gained a few pounds, my body still carries the leanness of years of malnutrition.
"Perfect," he breathes, as if reading my thoughts. "Absolutely perfect."
His hands cup my breasts, and I gasp at the sensation—the rough calluses on his palms creating delicious friction. When his thumbs brush over my nipples, my knees nearly buckle.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, watching my reaction closely as he repeats the motion. "Good to know."
He lowers his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth, and the wet heat of his tongue against my nipple tears a moan from my throat. My hands fly to his shoulders, gripping tightly as pleasure courses through me.
"That's it," he encourages between gentle sucks. "Let me hear you, Baby Girl. No hiding."
His attention to my breasts leaves me trembling, a strange pressure building in my lower belly. I'm dimly aware of him lowering me to the bed, my back meeting cool sheets as he continues his ministrations.
He takes his time, learning every inch of my upper body with hands and mouth until I'm writhing beneath him. Only then does his hand move to the button of my jeans.
“You good?” he asks, waiting for my nod before proceeding.
He unbuttons my jeans with agonizing slowness, sliding the zipper down tooth by tooth. The sound seems abnormally loud in the quiet room. He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently.
"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."
I comply, heat flooding my face as he slides my jeans down my legs, leaving me in just my plain cotton panties. His eyes darken as they take in the damp spot at the center.
"Already wet for me," he says, voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl."
The praise sends a fresh wave of arousal through me. I love how he calls me that, like I'm doing something right just by existing.
