Page 88 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
I arch my back, baring more of my neck to his kisses, and his lips explore around the knot of my halter bikini top, peeking above my sleep shirt. He moves to my hairline, and down to my shoulder blade, and across to the base of my neck again, each kiss soft and slow and gentle. I breathe in deeply, inhaling the affection in those kisses. I push my ass harder against him, and he pushes forward against me, nestling the ridge of his erection hidden behind his board shorts more firmly between the globes of my ass, which is hidden by the thin fabric of my bathing suit bottom.
Too much fabric. I want it all off. I want to be bare with him.
But even more, I want to explore this with him as slowly and deeply and openly and deliberately as possible. This will be not just sex—this will be so, so much more. This will be the beginning of love, and I know it, and he knows it. It thrums and throbs between us, pulses in the air, hangs thick in the atmosphere between us.
He’s in no hurry either.
His palm skates up my waist, over my belly, slides across my diaphragm, and then glides just beneath my breasts; I arch my back, needing his hands on them. He clutches me just beneath my breasts, and I almost groan in frustration but hold it back. I’m fraught with need, but I want to draw out each particular second of this experience, so I don’t miss a single sensation or emotion.
I’m waiting for him.
Letting him guide me.
Succumbing to his pace.
Giving myself to him, rather than taking what I want as I want it. I’m trusting him to take us where we want to be.
It’s total surrender, and I’m breathless with it.
I feel his lips touching and kissing across my nape again and, at the same time he tugs my T-shirt off. Then he pauses, and I feel a tug at the knot of my bikini top—he’s using his teeth to free the knot. A moment later, I feel the strings fall free, and the top sags loose. He lowers himself, kissing his way down the centerline of my spine to the second, lowermost knot. And again, his teeth tug at the loose strings, and the knot falls apart, and his kisses skate and dance and slide up my bare back, and his hand gathers the bikini top between my breasts, tugs once, and then he tosses the top aside, and I’m bare to his touch. Oh, god. God. Yes, god. His palm descends on my bare flesh, my nipple puckering in anticipation of the roughness of his strong hand, and he’s clutching me, kneading, caressing, tweaking my nipple. God, this is so incredible. Arousal slams through me, and I feel myself clench, heat throbbing in me, essence of need making me slippery and damp.
I lose myself in his touch, then. He kisses my neck and shoulder, my back, hairline, behind my jaw. Around my ear. I twist, needing more of his kisses, and fall onto my back. He rolls into me, and I twist my head toward him, and our lips meet, almost by accident. He groans, a ragged sound of ecstasy, and his hands toy with and tease and caress my breasts, tweaking my nipples until I’m aching with arousal. And then, our lips locked, tongues tangling, his fingers dance downward. He’s growing impatient, now. He tugs at the elastic of the bikini bottom, his fingers hooked in just below my navel. I lift my hips, and he yanks the tiny collection of string and fabric off and then his touch begins to explore between my thighs, and fuck, I need him. I need to touch him.
I can’t help myself. It’s been so long and I can’t make myself hold out anymore, I can’t wait for him.
I untie his board shorts, loosen the front and he lifts up and I yank them off, impatiently.
I grasp him, moaning at the feel of him.
He catches his breath, his hips lifting at my touch. “Fuck, Audra. I haven’t come in so long.”
“Me either.”
“You touch me like that much longer, and I’m done. I won’t last a second with your hand on me like that.”
“Good,” I whisper against his lips, grinning. “I’m in no hurry. I just need to touch you. Feel you. Be here with you, connect with you.” I stroke him slowly. “I just need you, all of you, in every way there is.”
His fingers are busy, exploring me, touching me. “I feel like a damn teenager. Seriously, I’m ten goddamn seconds from coming all over your hands.”
I gasp at his touch, writhing my hips upward. “I’m in no better shape, Franco.” I lose my breath. “Jesus, ohhh god, yes, the way you touch me, Franco, it’s so perfect.”
