very good idea.
“Is it though?” I give his tie the tiniest of tugs because, God, I hope the answer is no.
“Absolutely.” He nods, but his lips are somehow even closer to mine now.
“Okay, so then… should we not?”
“We shouldn’t,” he says, but now his lips are brushing against mine, a whisper of a kiss even as he’s saying we shouldn’t.
“Well, that’s confusing—”
But I don’t get any more words out because Warren is kissing me. Really kissing me, no more teasing brushes of lips. No more debating or denying. He’s dropped to his knees in front of the couch, my own legs spread to accommodate him. He pulls me forward as he crushes his mouth to mine. This is a hungry kiss, a demanding kiss, exactly the kind of kiss that I imagined with this man.
The moan that emits from my throat is feral as his lips drop to my jaw and then to my neck, and I arch back as his hands work their way over my shoulders and down my back. He’s pulling me forward so that I’m perched on the edge of the sofa, my body flush against his. The blanket I’d been snuggled up with is bunched behind me, and there’s only the thin cotton of an old t-shirt I sleep in between us.
Well, and his suit. Which is a problem.
I need to see this man without a shirt if we’re going to get to the naked things.
Not want to. Need to.
This seems like just the moment for some decisive action.
I snake my hand between us and push the suit jacket over his shoulders before tugging desperately at his tie. Desperately, because I want it off, not to choke him with it, and I’m not sure if I’m tightening it or loosening it in my lust-fueled haste.
He smiles, shrugging the jacket off before taking over on the tie removal. I nimbly work the buttons because I still know how to operate those. The entire time, I watch him. I watch his breath increase and his pupils dilate. I watch him swallow as I free enough buttons to slide my hand into his shirt and feel the hard plane of muscle that I’ve only been able to imagine up until now.
“Now you,” he demands once his shirt is on the floor, and God, I love it, that clear direction is sexy as hell.
Besides which, I’d do whatever he wanted. Just tell me.
I don’t have a bra on since I’m essentially in my pajamas, so I pull my shirt over my head and toss it in the direction of Warren’s clothing pile. His eyes fall to my tits and I barely have a moment to feel self-conscious about being naked with someone new or worry about lighting or flattering angles because Warren is taking me in like I’m the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.
Actually, he says that. I’m not even imagining that part.
“You’re lovely,” he says, and then before I even have a chance to reply or catch my breath he captures one of my nipples in his mouth, tugging with his teeth as his fingers work the other.
I moan at the feel of his lips on me. The warmth of his tongue circling and sucking and—oh, God—perfect little nips with his teeth before he soothes with strokes of his tongue.
I want more of him, need more, and my hand reaches out, searching for his waistband, finding the outline of his hard cock.
And oh, my. The big dick energy?
Definitely real.
Holy shit, I need to get these pants off of him.
“You little tease,” he says as I stroke the shaft through the fabric of his pants. “Be careful.”
“Be careful of what?” I reply. “We want the same thing. Your pants off. I’m definitely not teasing about that.”
He groans, capturing my mouth again in a hungry kiss. “First,” he says, “I need you to take off your ridiculous pants.”
Ridiculous? Who the hell is he to insult my pants? I look down and realize I’m wearing my Garfield pajama pants. Definitely not the sexiest thing I own, but whatever.
“Fine,” I say, shimmying out of them. “But I’ll have you know that—oh, fuck!”
He cuts me off by kissing my thigh, the gentle scratch of his evening stubble sending a whole lot of feelings to a whole lot of places.
Mainly the good place.
His mouth teases closer and closer to my panties, and I’m questioning all my life choices for not having removed them with my stupid pajama pants. But I nearly fall off of