It’s a command, not a request, and she reaches out to take it, the touch of her fingers on my own electrifying. Then she opens her mouth and wraps her lips around the end of the bottle and takes a big drink, while I watch, frozen.
Quickly, I turn around. “I’ll get a fire burning, take off the chill.”
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says behind me, and the door closes behind her a few seconds later.
I focus my attention on stacking the wood and getting the fire lit and blazing, and not on what Callie might be up to in the bathroom. When that’s done, I pull out a blanket from a cabinet, turn off the light, and settle myself on the couch, where I’m praying to God that an alcohol-induced sleep will find her before my aching cock does.
Finally, the door opens, and Callie sweeps out, taking a moment to look around the room and find me. I have the benefit of having been in the dark for the past few minutes, my eyes adjusted to the dimness of a room lit only by the flames.
She drops her little purse on the nightstand, takes a second to pull her phone out and type a text message, and returns it. “So how long are you going to pretend to be asleep,” she asks as she walks around to the foot of the bed, grabbing the elaborately designed wood post on the corner of the four-post bed.
“I’m not pretending. Just offering you some peace and quiet so you can get some rest.”
“Rest? I’m not the least bit tired. Although,” she says, her voice teasing and sultry, “I have a few ideas of what we can do to rectify that matter.”
“Get some sleep, brat,” I repeat. It’s been a long time since I called her that. But it’s the most natural name to call her when, not for the first time, she’s getting exactly what she wants, having me here, under her spell, despite everything.
She paces in front of the bed, the clicking sound of her boots on the wood floor loud in the space. She sighs. “You’re right,” she says finally and slows to a stop. “Best that I just do what I normally do when I can’t sleep. First…have I mentioned that I like to sleep completely naked?”
Fuck. Me.
And even though I should close my eyes and turn my body so it’s not facing her, I can’t look away as her fingers go to the top of her dress, and she slowly works open a button, then moves down to the next. I can already see black lace and the pale round tops of those tits of hers as they almost spill out of her bra.
She has two or three more buttons to go, but instead of working on them, she pauses, bringing her finger to her mouth. She licks it, and then as I watch, slips it down to the top of those breasts. The cup of her bra obscures the view of what I know is a perfect pink nipple, even as she dips her finger inside and rubs.
“What are you doing, brat?” I ask, my voice hoarse and pained with need.
“I thought it was obvious. When I can’t sleep, I think about you, of you touching me, tasting me, pleasuring me. So this”—she pulls her hand from her bra and holds it up—“this is your hand in my mind. These are your fingers that are touching me right now.” She returns her fingers to the inside of her bra and rubs again.
She takes a step back and leans against the bed for support as she glides her hand from her tit, across her belly, before it disappears inside what I can only imagine are her panties, as her dress is still stopping me from seeing everything. She moans at what she finds, then moves her hand in a motion that tells me she’s stroking herself.
I want to rip that dress open with my hands and plunge my hand into her panties right now and feel how hot and wet she is before I sink my face into her sweetness.
Deep breaths, Brody. Easy.
“Oops. I got distracted,” she says, pulls her fingers from her panties, and then resumes unbuttoning her dress as I watch.
With the last button undone, I can see the tiny black lace panties and the curve of those lovely, fleshy thighs. “What do you want to see next, Brody?” She leans forward, her breasts falling forward, and I swear I can see one of her nipples as she touches the top of her boot with a finger. “Should I take off the boots first…or last?”
Last. Definitely last.
She smiles and nods as if she’s heard my thoughts. I’m going to fucking burn in hell as she shrugs her dress off her shoulders and lets it slip to the floor in a puddle.
God. She really is beautiful, all soft, dangerous curves in that black lace bra, tiny lace panties, and boots. I conjure up a memory of her at a pep rally that I saw once when she was in high school—post-kiss. She’d been on the cheer squad then, and the way she moved and bounced to the music, showing such erotic sensuality in every move, I was certain she’d spurred a wet dream for every single guy there who witnessed her moves.
She’s just as gorgeous and graceful and sensuous now at twenty-four. Maybe more.
“I’m going to come tonight, Brody. It’s your choice whether I’m doing it all myself, or if you’re going to join me.”
Her mouth is definitely dirtier than it was then too.
Her fingers move along the side of her body, the fingertips trailing along her skin as if she wants to be sure I’m watching. “Has anyone ever stripped for you before, Brody? I mean just for you.”
I’ve been to strip clubs, I’ve had women strip in front of me, and I’ve had more than my share of lap dances. I’m human—not a saint. But none of those women ever triggered the visceral reaction I’m having for this girl. Her mouth drops open, and I swear I can see the redness of her tongue and even the back of her throat as her breathing hitches faster.
“This fabric is kind of annoying, no?” she asks, staring down at the black lacy bra. “Maybe I should just slip it off so we can see exactly what I’m doing.”
She slips one strap down, then the other, her gaze never leaving mine, even when she reaches back to undo the clasp, a motion that brings her tits front and center as they’re about to burst. She quickly brings her hands up to hold the bra in place, as if she’s not yet ready to let me see the tits I’m aching to touch. “Tell me, Brody. I want to hear you say you want to see my tits.”