Page 71 of Light Up The Night
It is utterly maddening. It is a need I cannot meet. A hunger I cannot sate, a thirst I cannot quench.
"Riley…" I breathe.
"Yeah, Beautiful? You okay with this?"
I open my eyes and look up at him; he is staring at my breasts as if memorizing them. Perhaps he is. "I feel…"
"How?"
"It is difficult to put into words." I arch again, and he bends over me, kisses the upper slope of the breast he holds in his hand, and I gasp. "Ohhh…my goodness. I feel…"
He kisses down the swell, and now he cups the underside of my breast, presenting it to himself, offering my breast to his mouth. I cannot even manage a gasp when he covers my nipple with his mouth and suckles it gently, softly—his mouth is scorching hot and wet, and his tongue flattens my aching nipple against the roof of his mouth, and the electric heat shivers through me and makes my clitoris pulse crazily, throbbing so intensely I have to press my thighs together in yet another vain attempt to alleviate the ache.
"Oh! Oh my...Riley—"
He groans. "Fuck, woman. You're so goddamn sensitive. Fucking incredible."
"That I am sensitive?" I ask, confused.
"Yeah, honey," he murmurs. "It's hot. You make the hottest fucking sounds every time I touch you."
"I cannot help the sounds."
"Good.Don't. Don'teverhold back those sounds. Okay?" he cups my jaw and makes me look at him. "No restraint. No control. I want youwild, Cadence."
He returns his attention to my breasts, now caressing the other, cupping it, squeezing it, testing the weight of it, and then offering it up to his mouth—yanking another shrill gasp from me.
I ache everywhere, now, and my dress suddenly feels too tight and too hot and too restrictive. My panties, too. I writhe under his touch and groan, and now I finally understand my roommate's claim that I cannot understand unless I experience it.
His touch on my breasts is driving me wild. My clitoris throbs every time he touches me, more and more, and when he takes my nipple in his mouth and suckles on it and tongues it and worries it with his teeth, I feel like some part of me might explode like an overfilled water balloon—the part of me at the apex of my thighs.
I clasp my hand against his head as he kisses and licks and sucks on my nipples, feather my fingers in his hair, and clutch him to me—communicating, I hope, how much I enjoy his attentions.
My sex aches so badly it qualifies as pain. I press my thighs together but this does nothing to alleviate the ache, the pressure.
Riley rolls toward me and moves his mouth to mine and kisses my lips, demands my tongue, and rolls my nipple between finger and thumb—the combination of his kiss and the pinching of my nipple is almost the catalyst for my combustion—it feels as if I am teetering on the brink of some abyssal precipice. It frightens me, this feeling. It is intense, wild, and all-consuming.
My dress tangles up my legs, frustrating me. I growl my frustration, unable to otherwise verbalize it.
Cupping my breast, lips whispering against my saliva-slick nipple: "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"Dress," I gasp. "Too hot. In the way."
I feel his lips curve against my breast in a grin. "Is that so?"
"Yes," I answer.
"Then please, my lady, allow me to endeavor a solution."
I laugh, amused and touched. "Are you…talking like…likeme?"
His cheeks tinge pink beneath his beard; the man isblushing. "That's the idea, at least."
Why this simple, silly thing means so much to me, I cannot say—the answer is obvious and too utterly terrifying and worrisome to even look at in the privacy of my own mind.
In fact, I hardly know how to respond. I have to, however; I worry he will take a prolonged silence as criticism. "Riley," I whisper, cupping his chin with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. "That you would even…" I shake my head, eyes misty and hot. "I hardly know what to…"
"Might sound like an idiot compared to you," he murmurs, but I just wanted to show you that I—"
