Page 91 of What About Us
Instead of answering, I take her hand, gently leading her around to stand between my knees. She waits as I take in every inch of her. From her feet—with that black polish that drives me fucking crazy, and that little, silver toe ring she’s had for years—then up her calves to the creamy skin of those thighs I want to bury my face between, to the jut of her hip bones, and the points of her perky tits in that tank top. She’s perfect. My eyes snag on the sexy pout of her lips, then up to the wide, expectant brown eyes she’s set on me.
She raises a hand to brush my hair off my forehead as I look up at her. “What do you need?” she whispers, and her voice is like a balm to my anxious mind.
I’ve never been good at being vulnerable with anyone but her, and even now, it feels like too much. Too heavy for what we agreed to. But I’ve never wanted to lie to her, and we’re friends first. So, I decide to be honest.
“To shut it all off.” I swallow, dropping my gaze. “Every decision I make feels so heavy.”
Her gaze softens further. “How can I help?”
I huff out a quiet puff of air, my eyes trailing up her body.
She nods, knowing without words. “Take what you need from me.”
My chest tightens. I want this with her so badly, and I know there will be no coming back from this, but I can’t find it in me to care. My voice sounds gruff, even to my own ears. “You sure?”
Her nod is slight. “Yes,” she breathes out.
My hands shake a bit when I run a finger up the line between her knees and across the front of her thigh, following the hem of her shorts. She shivers, making me smile. Sitting forward some, my hands find her waist, then drop lower, thumbs brushing back and forth over the silky fabriccovering her hip bones. She’s so tiny, my hands have no trouble gripping all of her.
My heart hammers in my chest when the fingers of both hands dig into the sides of her ass, kneading. I’ve wanted my hands on this woman for two years, and even longer. She feels better than I ever imagined, and I’ve barely gotten started.
Running my fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, dusting over the silk of her sleep shorts, I tease the skin there. Goosebumps break out across her skin and a sigh leaves her lips. Her hands thread through my hair, pulling the slightest bit. My fingers trail up the inside of her thigh and under her shorts and my gaze slides to hers when I find the seam of her panties.
She pulls in a sharp breath, then sighs when I move across her pubic bone, causing her abs to clench and her fingers to tighten in my hair. I love the way she tugs a little, like she’s holding onto every bit of restraint she has. I’ll never get over how responsive she is, like my touch ignites a fire just under her skin. My heart pounds in my ears and anticipation coils in my gut. It’s exhilarating and unnerving all at once.
Lifting her tank top a bit, I press my lips to her navel, which dips in with the sharp intake of her breath at the contact. Her skin is warm and soft. I skate my hands and lips lower, taking her shorts with them, until she’s standing before me in purple lacy panties that make my mouth water.
She smells fucking incredible. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to wait to be inside her, and I haven’t even gotten her naked yet. Pressing warm kisses over the lace-covered apex of her thighs, I press my face against the spot just below her belly button. A low groan vibrates my chest when I breathe her in.
My whispered, “Fuck,”is the only thing I hear, mixed with the pounding in my ears as my pulse skyrockets.
Gently pushing her backward toward the coffee table, I guide her to sit. The chessboard tilts, falling to the floor, and pieces scatter to the hardwood. Her eyes are hooded, and she’s got that lip trapped between her teeth, when I lift her feet one by one, draping them over my spread thighs. Wrapping an arm around her back, I pull her to the edge of the coffee table, then reach forward to yank it toward me. She braces herself on her hands behind her, the movement pushing her tits out.
“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”
She shakes her head lightly.
My eyes drop to her chest, still covered by the thin fabric of her tank top, then lower, where she’s spread out before me. I run a finger over the top of her panties, just below her belly button, pulling another shiver from her. Sliding my fingers lower, I trace the damp lace covering her clit. She pants out a breath when I circle it twice.
“Fuck. You’re so wet already.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, biting that pillowy bottom lip again.
“This is all me?” My eyes flick up to hers in the dark. It’s hot as fuck how wet she is. I force the thought of tearing off her panties and burying myself in her to the back of my mind. I want to savor this moment, knowing I do this to her.
She swallows and squirms a little, lifting her hips. “Yeah.”
That simple word has my chest swelling with satisfaction. I move my thumb slightly, rubbing just a little on the wet spot. It’s not quite hard enough to press in with the lace, but just the promise of it has her lifting her hips again, searching for friction.
I search the table for a split second before reaching out, plucking up the white queen she uses every time we play. Her eyes track the movement. When I bring it to her chest, circling a nipple until it peaks, she whimpers and drops her head back, all that glorious hair fanning out around her hips.
“So fucking responsive.” I drag it across her chest to repeat the process on the other side until that nipple is peaked, too. “How’s that, pretty girl?” I whisper. “Are you aching yet?”
“Mm, yes. Again.” She gasps.
My chuckle is low when I lean closer and lightly flick one nipple, then the other with the tiny nub on the top of the marble game piece. Another whimper leaves her lips. Her head comes up, all hooded eyes and parted lips. She runs her tongue over her top lip, watching me when I drag the marble down her abdomen and over the lace. Avoiding her clit, I tease the crease between her thigh and her pussy until she’s writhing on the table.
“P–please,” she stutters out.
