public. I love seeing her raw and unfiltered self—no makeup, messy hair, braless in her tiny tank and tinier shorts—the way we are at home. It’s a privilege and an honor to get let in even as far as I have. And this? Her topless with her lacy wisp of a bra pushing her tits together like an offering just for me?
This is heaven.
With my hands splayed across her back, I bring her chest to my mouth, kissing a path from her collarbone to her sternum, dragging my tongue along the edge of her bra. She makes a soft sound of either surprise or encouragement, I’m not sure. But it isn’t a protest, and the way she threads her fingers through my hair and holds me in place puts to rest any lingering concerns I might have about her being okay with this.
After a moment, her grip changes, and she tugs my head away from her. Reluctantly, I part ways with her chest, sad I didn’t manage to edge my way very far under her bra.
But my disappointment is short-lived because as soon as she pushes me back to the couch, she reaches behind her and undoes her bra, tossing it aside. When I reach for her again, she clucks her tongue and gives me a quelling look that has me dropping my hands back to my sides, my eyebrows arched in question.
She gives me a sultry smile. “It’s my turn to explore.” And then her hands are on my shoulders, trailing down my chest, making me squirm as she feels the ridges of my abs. She scoots back on my lap, staring down at my crotch, her hands lingering just above my belt.
I arch my hips up, almost without thinking, craving her touch just a few inches lower, my fingers flexing against the nubby fabric of the couch. God, I want her so bad.
She licks her lips, still staring, her gaze hungry. “I’ve been dying to get a look at what you’re packing under there for weeks,” she whispers. “You freeballing it in those damn gray sweatpants.”
A strangled laugh bursts out of me. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been torturing me for just as long. And look, you’re completely topless and you won’t even let me touch you.”
Her chin lifts in a challenge, her eyes that unnatural shade of turquoise. She insisted on wearing her colored contacts tonight. I’ll admit they give her an ethereal beauty, but I prefer her without them. I want to see the way her eyes dilate when I slide inside her. But that probably won’t happen tonight anyway, even if she does eventually touch my dick.
“You want to touch me?” she asks, that same challenge in her voice.
I groan. “Like you even have to ask. Of course I do. That’s just about all I’ve wanted since the first time I kissed you.”
Her smile grows wider. “You can touch mine if I can touch yours?”
“Oh? Are we making deals?”
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, her perfect, raspberry-tipped breast jiggling softly with the movement. And god, I want that sweet little berry in my mouth. “You started it,” she says, “Mr. I’ll-play-an-encore-if-you-give-me-an-encore-of-that-kiss.”
I lift my eyes to hers and shake my head. “This isn’t the encore. This is the main show.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alexis
Colt’s eyes are molten blue, and just like with fire, blue flames burn the hottest. His gaze singes me everywhere it touches, but it’s the good kind of heat, like going out in the sun on the first warm day after a long, cold winter. I want to arch my back and bask in the glow.
He takes my arching as an invitation, his hands sliding up my sides to cradle my breasts, his thumbs passing gently over my already hard nipples, making them draw up even tighter.
Not to be outdone, I move my hand between us, sliding it along the hard ridge in his jeans, the tight denim keeping it trapped against him.
I know I turn him on. He’s never bothered to hide his erection, sometimes even standing and stretching, arching his back so I get a good show as part of our little game of sexy chicken. I’m not sure who moved first at this point. Colt? He touched me first. But I took off his shirt. And kissed him first. Though I could argue he started it with that kiss on stage plus his demand for an encore after we got home.