were electrified. My skin prickled with bumps of pleasure as soft sighs whispered out of my parted lips.
He kissed his way to the other breast and treated it to the same, sensual torture, shoving my top down to my waist.
He also touched me just like he said he would.
His palms smoothed along the outside of my thighs and disappeared into the thin fabric of my shorts. He made a guttural sound of surprise when his fingers encountered nothing but bare skin and heat between my legs.
There wasn’t anyone who was going to knock on the door this time. There wasn’t going to be any interruption. Boldly, his touch trailed along places that no one, other than me, had touched for a very long time. I almost forgot how good it could feel to be stroked and caressed in just the right way. It seemed like ancient history since the last time I’d had thick fingers fill me up or my pussy got instantly wet and quivery as soon as a rough knuckle brushed carelessly against my clit.
I always thought I had a pretty satisfactory sex life leading up to and during my marriage. It was nothing that would make it into letters to the editor, but I was pretty open-minded when it came to what went down in the bedroom. I liked most anything that felt good and made whomever I was with happy, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember being so immediately sucked into the moment and getting lost in all the different things I was feeling—both emotionally and physically.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that Salinger knew exactly how to use his hands and his mouth for the most impact, but he rendered me a speechless, writhing mess so quickly it was slightly scary. I didn’t want to react to anyone as strongly as I was to him. It would make holding to my ‘one and done’ rule more difficult. Especially since Salinger had no plans on sticking to the agreement.
He touched me all over, inside and out. He kissed me from my forehead to my belly button. And he definitely did his best to get me to agree to fuck him. He told me I was beautiful. He promised that he hadn’t been with anyone else since he got out of rehab because I was the one in his head. He whispered that he had dreams about me that caused him to wake up hard, sometimes wet. The deep rumble of his voice was almost as seductive as the way his fingers played with my most private parts. It wasn’t long until I was slick and moving with him as my breathing became choppy and ragged. He confidently claimed he would make me feel better than anyone who had come before him, and I was too embarrassed to tell him he already had. It should take more than a desperate kiss and a bit of skillful fondling for me to be on the edge of breaking apart, but here I was, barely holding it together.
He reached behind his head and pulled his shirt off with one hand, muscles rippling all across his shoulders and chest as he did so. He wasn’t bulky, but there wasn’t a part of his body that wasn’t sharply defined or marked in some kind of way. Along with the tattoos that swirled over his torso and down his arms, there were scars that crisscrossed his side and over the curve of his hip. If I remembered correctly, he’d been in not one, but two different car accidents before his last stint in rehab. When the media said he was lucky to be alive, they really meant it. His crash course was literal, and I was very grateful he’d survived it.
He pulled his mouth off of my nipple with a sexy pop and pressed his thumb tightly against my clit. His dark eyes were watching me carefully, and the smirk that found its way to his stupidly handsome face had me ready to throw any and all caution to the wind.
I sighed and lifted my hands to hold his face as we stared at each other. This was the last place I ever thought I would end up, but sometimes fate had plans in store for us that were just so unlikely, mortal minds couldn’t comprehend them.
“I thought you were trying to convince me to fuck you, Salinger.” The way things were going right now, he was definitely the one who