Page 60 of The Art of Being Merry
Right about now, I’m wishing I hadn’t seen her naked.
Because once with Clementine Powell isn’t going to satiate my need for her.
18
clem
Between Dax’s staringand the way his tongue licks his lips, I’m on a high.
Keith never appreciated my body. Not once in our time together, not even at the beginning, did he give any part of me this much attention Dax did in a matter of minutes.
I’m not the girl who needs someone to praise my body, to tell me how good I look, to boost my ego, but damn if it doesn’t feel amazing.
And these are my boobs after pregnancy and nursing two kids for the first year of their lives. These aren’t even the best they’ve ever looked. The way Dax is taking them in, not even blinking, is unconcerning to him.
As much as I could stand here all day with him ogling my chest, I don’t have that kind of time. Not if I want the orgasm he promised me.
Man, do I want that orgasm.
I’ll admit at first I was a little taken aback, but when I let the dust settle and allowed my mind to get on board, I realized why the hell not? We’re both adults. We can give each other pleasure without it being too complicated and messy. Hell if I don’t want to see what sex with Dax is like. I’ve been practically salivating at the prospect before I mentioned it the other day.
This might be Dax Nicholas’s greatest idea ever.
I clear my throat, which breaks the trance he’s in. “Can you multitask?”
“Huh?” He shakes his head. “In what capacity?”
“Play with my breasts while your cock’s in my pussy. Did I get that right?”
His jaw clenches. “Yep. To both. On the bed with you. Lose the leggings.” The deep gravel in his voice almost has me coming.
I’m not ashamed to admit the longer he gaped at my chest, moisture pooled between my thighs. Such a turn-on I never knew I needed. Doubt we’ll even need foreplay.
I shimmy out of my leggings and panties and plant myself on the bed, resting on my elbows so I can watch the show of him getting undressed. It’s not a striptease or anything, but it’s fascinating the rate at which he’s soon naked. On the side of his abdomen, I spy a tattoo of a wrench and some other tool but miss my opportunity to see it all as he joins me on the bed, leaning on his forearms, hovering over me.
“Are you a kisser with casual sex or is it a no-go?”
I wasn’t prepared for the man to be so gentlemanly in the bedroom. Technically, I wasn’t prepared for the man to be in the bedroom, so I guess I’m not sure what I expected.
Or rather, didn’t.
“You can kiss me,” I tell him, a swarm of butterflies taking flight in my abdomen.
The last man I kissed was Keith, but even with a gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you when it was. When my last kiss was.
When the last time I had sex was.
When I last felt so desired.
I shouldn’t be getting so worked up emotionally. The only thing riding on this act is the orgasm he promised me. I’m not complaining we’re doing more, but I have to keep in mind nothing else can come of this.
Yet, I told him he could kiss me.
When his face lingers right in front of mine, I realize my mistake.
The hunger in Dax’s eyes is bound to destroy me. Not that I’m prepared to stop this roller coaster. Like the amusement ride, once in motion, it’ll stay that way until it reaches the end.
For us, that’s the promised orgasm.
