Uh, her. Right here. Right now.
As Mike stared at her, eyes burning with an intensity she fell into, an abyss of wanting, she found herself startlingly interested in trying this new experience. Was this why he had gone to so much trouble—the wine, the special blanket, the fromagerie of cheeses and such? It dawned on her that he wasn’t just being a sweetheart, giving her a lovely, gourmet picnic for their second date.
As a matter of fact, what they had eaten was just an appetizer.
She was the entree.
His kiss wasn’t a surprise; what shocked her most was the preternatural urge that welled up, unbidden, as his hands seized her as**s and hips, his body knowing exactly what—and who— it wanted. He shifted, like he had on their first date, from a mild-mannered, lanky, zen-like dude to a ferocious, sexual alpha male.
And she—she—had triggered all that. It excited her almost more than his touch, the way his tongue conquered hers, how his palms were greedy for so much of her skin, his chest pressed into hers, the thick outline of his erection in such stark relief against her navel she could probably sculpt it out of clay from memory. When he urged her, gently, to kneel, then recline, on the blanket, she knew her outdoor sex cherry was about to be popped, and a thin membrane of restraint about to give way to a burst of need that told her she was more than ready to bare all before nature.
“Mmmmmmmm,” she sighed. His mouth moved from hers, hands tracing patterns of lust on her breasts, as if he were memorizing the terrain, his flattened palm stealing down her ribcage as his lips caressed her neck. She had worn a skirt today, a just in case move that she was grateful for, now, because the easy access meant that this would be so much simpler, more direct, less complicated.
Like Mike.
And, thankfully, she had shaved. Landscaped, if you will. Going nearly bald had been a new experience, the little landing strip like a giant, glowing neon sign pointing to her clit. She almost smiled to herself; would he like it? Hate it? Not care?
Barely functioning nerves kicked in and she couldn’t turn off the lopping thoughts, the cluster of fears and insecurities, even with this gorgeous athlete’s hands greedily touching every part of her, even as his lips brushed her abdomen, her hands in his hair and—oh! He was going...
The smooth, cold feeling of her skirt sliding up her thighs felt like butter melting on hot flesh as a light breeze blew up to her V, centered on the little bit of hair under her postage-stamp thong. She shivered and he nearly growled, his face about to descend on her womanhood, his eyelids heavy and his hands communicating his own, barely-controlled need. A deep sigh from him as his hands roamed up her torso told her more than words, that he was enjoying this, that her body was his, and fine, and enough.
As he slid the thin string of her thong down her legs she worried they were too plump, too full, too—and then, oh wow, he gently kissed her labia, a soft touch like a promise, so profound she nearly came in his mouth, the thought and feel of this giant, gentle man wanting her such a balm. A quick flash of Dylan— would he never leave her thoughts?—nearly ruined the moment for her, but she pushed him away and let Mike continue, surrendered to what was before her.
A man who very much desired her—and who was showing it, touch by touch.
“Oh, oh!” she whispered, his hands slipping between her as**s and the blanket, her naked bottom half exposed for the sun and clouds and sky to view unfettered. Modesty disappeared under the sun’s rays in their secluded spot, and the knowledge that here, miles from anything that could judge her, they were just two people enjoying each others’ bodies and minds. Muscled arms pressed in the right places, his fingertips gently folding back her labia and his hot breath teasing her just before his tongue did its dance, flicking against the tender, red skin that craved his mouth so much.
She bloomed with lust, every pulse of energy focused on her womanhood as he sucked her clit, slowly extracting the release within, entering and pulling back with two perfect fingers as he seemed to know exactly what to do to make her build to a climax. This wasn’t some shy guy who didn’t know his way around a woman’s body; she couldn’t control her shaking legs, a sign she was getting so close and, moreso, that he was a master at triggering a woman’s touch points, making the different parts fall into place for the grand finale.
Letting go was so hard, but at one point Mike’s hand came up and touched her hip bone, the simple, non-sexual gesture a symbol of a bond here—that this wasn’t just sex, but it was something more. A connection. She looked down—something she never, ever did during oral sex—and her hands found their way into his hair again, her eyes wide open as she took in the cloud formations, the shine of sunlight on the side of the mountain, the lush greenery, the quality of the light and the chirping of birds. They were just mammals who were part of nature, yet so much more.
“Please, please!” The words came out of her so abruptly she nearly pulsated as she came, her pus**sy walls slamming against each other as the orgasm hit her without warning. She groaned, pelvis grinding into his mouth and tongue, which danced maddeningly right where she needed it most. Then he lapped her, enlarging the surface area of his amazing tongue, changing between flat and pointed to tweak every pixel of flesh he could. Feeling both sensations led to a screaming rush as a huge, muscular wave tightened every part of her, her dripping hole clinging to his finger, fucking his face, his tongue eagerly catching up to her clit.
“No! Keep going!” she groaned, hands curling into fists of orgasm, her pus**sy crammed into his tongue as she hissed, “You are so—oh, Mike!” The vortex of lust, the churn of hope and disbelief and pleasure, didn’t stop and she didn’t think it was possible to feel so much so fast, his fingers strumming her and his tongue licking exactly what she wanted and where she needed, the blanket beneath her as**s soaked, his breath coming in little pants now as she imagined he was ready to explode, too.
Keeping her pus**sy on his tongue, he maintained a steady pace, little laps followed by faster, eager strokes, tonguing her, working to extract every last bit as she came and came and came, comfortable enough to let her face contort and her body twist as she reveled in what he could do to her. One deep, full-body clench as she closed her eyes so hard she saw fireworks behind them and she was done, the peak ended, her prayers nearly silent, the breath leaving her body.
He grinned, then climbed up her body, his long, lanky runner’s frame a muscled wall as he made his journey up to her. One hot kiss full of her taste made her red and engorged again, her clit tightening so much she came right there from just a kiss, her hips pushing into him, her own musk covering her lips, her nose, the intoxicating odor so powerful that she couldn’t believe she was coming again. What kind of man could do this to her?
This kind.
Frantic hands that didn’t feel like hers, but were, pulled at his waist. She wanted him in her now. Preliminaries first, of course—she had to give him some attention, too, as a wildflower patch nearly mingled with a low breeze to send an incredible, heady rush of pollen and perfume their way. Freeing him, she gasped.
She looked down at his cock, pausing a moment to really appreciate it, rising up to meet her.
“Laura,” he said, his voice gravelly and tight.
“Yes?”
Then he reached for her and in one fluid movement stripped off her shirt, his eyes lighting up as her skin shone in the light. She hunched her shoulders forward, a bit embarrassed to be so exposed in bright, unrelenting sunshine.
“Don’t,” he said, his hands cupping her breasts, fingers playing with the light-pink lace at the top of her bra. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Alarm raced through her veins, mixing with the endorphins from the orga**sms she’d just enjoyed, leaving her cotton-headed and puzzled.
“Don’t hide yourself. Oh, Laura—you are so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he leaned forward, unclasped her bra, and pulled off his own t-shirt. Within seconds he had unveiled himself completely, his body nude before her, and he gestured for her to do the same.
She had to stand to slide off her skirt and she sucked in her lower abdomen, wishing she’d spent more time on pilates than dead-lifting, the pain of each fat roll of excess ruining her arousal.
Until Mike said, “You’re like a model in a Renaissance painting. Perfect and real.” He pulled her hand and brought her down to the blanket, kissed the nape of her neck, and she melted.
She was real.
As she grinned, she took one experienced hand, making sure she had his full, erect attention now. She ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the pleasure she was about to give, so the first touch would be perfect, not too dry or bothersome—and, of course, all-too-real.
She clutched his swollen rod in one hand and teased his tip with her tongue, ripples of muscle under his rib cage going crazy. Flicking the tip until he groaned, she perfected the friction level all the way down, completely aroused by his excitement. Thick runner’s legs shifted, the hair against hair like the sound of light sandpaper, and his face was open, languid, even, as she touched him.
No one—not even Dylan—had made her feel this comfortable with her own sexuality. So pure. So real. So alive. Mike was so present with his arousal, so into the moment of her hand, her mouth—her.
