I answer by grabbing the back of her neck and slotting our mouths together, licking into the seam of her lips. Her tongue meets mine and she rocks again, the friction so sweet that it has my blood thrumming.
When I was coming home from Mountain Point, I had this idea of what things would be like at this point. I’d be neck-deep in pussy, face buried between someone’s legs every weekend, so fucked out by Sunday that I’d have to sleep the day away. I was sorely disappointed when I couldn’t actualize any of it, but now?
Her little punch of breath when she grinds into me, the way her fingers thread through my hair, the heat of her eyes when they open, the softness of her lips.
This is so much better.
I kiss her like I’m drowning, and maybe I am. I try to hold it back, to reel my hands in, but they shove beneath her sweater and run over the soft, warm skin of her back instead. Vandy has the perfect skin there, a long swath of girl-soft smoothness that tempts my fingertips to go higher, lower. She arches her back in response, making a quiet sound into my mouth as she rocks against me.
I freeze when she pulls away, worrying that I’ve gone too far. But in one swift movement, she peels off the sweater. She sits before me, chest heaving, eyes burning into mine, and I gently finger the strap of her bra. She wears these basic little white things and holy fuck, they’re hot as hell. It’s insane, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen her topless. It isn’t even the second time. But it’s the first time I’ve seen it like this, her red flush blooming down the swell of her cleavage, inviting me. She grinds down on me, a move that has to be pure instinct, and I carefully close my palms over her tits, testing.
“Yeah?” I ask, sweeping my thumbs over them. They fit perfectly in my hands—not too big, not too little, just fucking right.
Her eyes fall closed and she exhales, sighing against my touch. “Yes.”
That’s all I need to push the fabric aside to thumb her hard, pebbled nipples. Her mouth parts on a breathy little gasp when I do. Like a button, every time I touch her, she grinds down harder on me. So responsive that it’s driving my hips up, meeting hers in a needy thrust. The action makes her face screw up, like it hurts, but she does it again and again. I move a hand to her thigh and sweep it up, raising her skirt. I want to let her take the lead, but Jesus. She’s driving me crazy.
“Does that feel good?” I ask, because I don’t want to hurt her. Never again.
She nods, eyes clenched tight.
I touch her chin and force her face to mine. “Does it feel good, V? I need to know.”
Slowly, her eyes open, blue blazing back at me. Her words escape in a frantic rush, “It feels so good.”
“That’s what I want,” I tell her, and I can barely recognize the low octave of my own voice. “I just want you to feel good.”
I plant a hand on both her hips and drag her against me. I’d give anything to shuck these jeans and coax her into riding me bare and hard. I bet she’s wet for me, and the thought alone is enough to make my balls tighten. But she’s not there yet. We’re not there yet. Slow, steady. I am not fucking this up.
But I can make her feel good, and I focus every ounce of energy I have on it. I push the cup of her bra aside and take her into my mouth, licking and sucking on her peaked nipple. She arches into it, fingers threading into my hair and holding me there, no question that this is doing it for her. I hum when she touches me in return, hand pushing my shirt up, fingers teasing the hair below my belly. Jesus.
Such a little touch to make me feel so crazy.
I wonder, “Can you come like this?” and tip my face up to hers when she doesn’t answer. Vandy isn’t very good at holding a conversation when she’s like this—chasing, hungry, horny. It’s like fire in my veins to know this about her, a knowledge that no one else has. “Can you?”
She’s looking at me with glazed eyes, hips never ceasing. “Yeah,