Page 83 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“You just have to unwrap it.”
Chapter 17
I stand still and wait for him.
I don’t have to wait long—he reaches for me, pulls me close. Bends over me, kisses me into incoherent stupidity in that way he has. And this time, while he’s kissing me, his fingers find the zipper tab at the back of my dress and tug it down from between my shoulder blades to the small of my back. My dress sags open, and I press my palms against his chest, round my shoulders to let the barely there straps slide down my arms. James helps, fingers grazing along my biceps, pulling the top of the dress away from my body.
He steps away, breaks the kiss. Instead of letting the dress fall to the floor, he keeps hold of the bodice and slowly lowers it down my front—revealing my cleavage in slow increments, then my belly, then my hips, then my thighs; as he lowers the dress, he sinks to his knees, and his mouth plies my flesh with kisses on the way down. Each kiss leaves me more breathless than the one before.
At long last, he’s on his knees in front of me, and I’m staring down at his love-struck eyes, blazing with desire and awe—for me. I caress his hair, stroke it back from his face. He kisses my belly, gazing up at me. His lips touch and dance and flicker to the side, to my hip bone, and his hands carve around my waist, fingertips clawing down my back. Another kiss, and another, just above the waistband of my underwear, from navel to hip bone, and then the other way. His hands follow the line of my spine upward, and his eyes remain on mine. I don’t dare look away, I cannot.
I palm his cheeks, the nape of his neck. He finds the clasp of my bra, and I suck in a breath, hold it and wait. He leans back, and his eyes leave mine, but only to rake over my body, hungrily soaking up the vision of me in the white lace.
“God, Nova—you are…so fucking beautiful.” His voice is a ragged whisper.
“When you look at me that way…I feel beautiful.”
“I feel like the luckiest man in the world, getting to see you like this.”
“You’re about to get a whole lot luckier,” I say, smirking down at him.
“Oh, I know. I just…I want to savor this.” He growls then, and opens my bra with a deft movement.
I chuckle. “That was fast. I thought you were savoring?”
He tugs my bra off and tosses it aside, feasting on the sight of my naked breasts. “I did. But I’m getting impatient. I’ll savor more later.” His hands grip my buttocks, fingers gently pinching the flesh, and then slide up my back and carve around my diaphragm, twist to cup and lift my breasts. “Plus, I’m hoping I’ll be able to convince you to wear that for me again.”
I would laugh, but I’m too breathless from the fire of his touch. “James, baby—with the way you look at me, I’ll wear it all the time. Just try and stop me.” I gasp as he tweaks my nipples, sending a thrill of pleasure through me. “I’ll spend a fortune on lingerie if it means you’ll look at me that way.”
“Babe, I’ll buy it for you, if it means I get to see you in lingerie. You are the sexiest woman in the world.”
He uses his mouth for other, more worthy endeavors than talking, then his lips close over my nipple and his tongue flicks, and then he kisses the underside, around my wide pale areola. His hands, meanwhile, set fire to my skin on their journey down to my hips, where his fingers hook into the lace and continue downward, clawing down my thighs. My panties slide off, and I step out of them, and now I’m naked and his mouth laves kisses to my other breast, and he’s exploring my ass and the tender silk of my inner thighs. I bury my fingers in his hair and focus on breathing, sucking in the bliss of his kiss, his touch, his loving mouth and hands.
Lips and tongue flick and slide down my belly, around my navel, and over my core. His tongue flits down my seam and I need to breathe, need to gasp, but I can’t. I have no breath and no capacity to remember how. I am nothing but the wild explosion of sensation as he parts my flesh with his tongue, and then drags a single thick finger over me and slides it into me and smears my clit with my juices, and then delves back in, curling to find it wet and hot and clenching already. His tongue circles and swipes, flicks and licks. I arch my back and push my hips forward, shamelessly begging more of this, whispering yes, yes—don’t stop, please, in a rhythmic chant.
