Page 60 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
Jesse’s response is to gather the fabric of my dress in his fingers, walking the hemline upward until my dress is hiked up over my hips, leaving my ass bare. And, did I mention the underwear I’m wearing is a thong? It’s nothing but a tiny triangle of red lace over my core, a strap around my hips, and a red string. When my ass is bared, he palms it again, with a long, deep groan of unmistakable appreciation.
“Your friend is more right than she knows,” he says. “Your ass is perfect.”
“I guess I’m just self-conscious. I used to be in great shape, but I’ve slacked off over the past few years.”
Jesse sighs. “Imogen. Stop. Just stop. You’re absolutely perfect.” He caresses my butt again. “I can’t get enough.”
I kiss his chest, and then his pec, and then his shoulder, my hands carving circles around his broad back and shoulders. “I think you’ve just gotten started, Jesse,” I say. “I know I’m self-conscious, and I know it’s annoying. It’ll take time for me to work past it. Time, and probably a lot of compliments I’ll have trouble believing.”
He grinds his erection against me. “Does this feel like a compliment to you?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, grinning as I kiss his neck under his beard line. “There’re too many layers of clothing between me and you to be sure.”
“An easily rectified situation,” he says.
I unfasten his button and lower the zipper again, and his erection bulges free. This time, I push his jeans down over his butt. He steps out of them, kicks them aside, and I cup the hard roundness of his butt, over the tight gray cotton of his boxer briefs. I linger there, enjoying the feel of it, the hardness of it. And then I bring my hands between us and cup his erection.
“Feeling the compliment now?” Jesse asks. “Getting to spend time with you, getting to look at you, getting to put my hands on your incredible body…you do that to me. You make me so hard it hurts.”
“I think I’m starting to feel the compliment,” I say, caressing his length over his underwear. “But I think I may need to feel more of it to be absolutely sure.”
He laughs, capturing both of my hands in one of his. “Not so fast,” he says. “I have something else in mind, first.”
“Something…else?” I ask, my voice cracking a little.
He doesn’t answer. At least, not with words. Still pinioning my hands together, he reaches around behind me and unzips my dress. Keeping hold of my hands, he nudges the dress straps down, letting the dress sag a little lower. Instead of letting me go so the dress falls off, he transfers his grip on one wrist to his other hand, slides his fingertips up my arm, captures the other strap and drags it down. I’m breathless and helpless to do anything except comply as he guides my arm out of the loop of the strap, and then repeats this on the other side. The dress is tight enough that it won’t fall off on its own, requiring a little…help, to come off. Again, Jesse deviates from my expectations by leaving the dress on. It’s sagging, drooping, but catching around the bell of my hips. He still has a firm grip on both of my hands, refusing to let them go, retaining utter control over me.
He raises my hands over my head, transfers both into one of his and, with a brief, intense locking of eyes, presses his lips to my sternum, just above the valley of my cleavage. And then downward, to the slope of one breast. Slowly, with delicate gentility, his beard silky and scratchy at once against my skin, he kisses me, and then moves to the other breast. Down, kissing closer and closer to the edge of bra and the neckline. Back upward, then, up to my sternum, to the base of my throat. I gasp, and tilt my head back, and he accepts my offering, kissing up my throat to the underside of my chin, and then around to underneath my earlobe, behind my ear, then the shell of it, his breath hot on my flesh. I shiver, and a ghost of a whimper escapes me as he brings his lips to my cheekbone, the corner of my lips. My mouth opens, and I eagerly meet his kiss.
He starts the kiss slowly, this time, gradually building the intensity of it, feeding my hunger for his tongue on mine and his breath and his lips until I’m ravenous and greedy, and then, as our kiss crescendos in a clash of mouths and moans, he uses his free hand—up until now clinging to the small of my back to press me against him into the kiss—to grasp a handful of my dress and tug.
