“Let me take my shirt off,” I muttered.
“I’m not done,” he said, stil circling with his finger and it was driving me mad, but in a good way.
I pressed into him. “Whisky, let me take my shirt off,” I said.
His head lifted and he looked down at me, stil circling.
It felt good.
“Why Whisky?” he asked.
“What?”
“Why Whisky?”
I tried to scoot away so I could get my clothes off and, I don’t know, maybe attack him, when his thumb joined his finger and he did a rol .
My body stil ed and I felt a spasm between my legs.
“Holy cow,” I breathed.
“Why Whisky?” he repeated, going back to circling.
“Your eyes…” I said, “They’re the color of whisky.” He smiled.
I felt a spasm between my legs again.
Then his mouth was on mine.
I was dizzy when he final y moved and pul ed my shirt off.
I would have thanked him but he covered my body with his and used his hands and mouth on me, all over me, so I was robbed of speech. Before I knew it, my bra was gone, he reached down to pul off my shoes, then he yanked down my jeans. Then, without warning, his hands spread my legs and his mouth was on me over my panties.
It was nice. It was better than nice, it was amazing.
Then he whisked away my panties and his mouth was on me.
That was even better, way better.
In fact, so much better, I felt it coming and I knew it was going to be good.
“Hank,” I said and it sounded like a moan.
Then his mouth was gone and he came back over me. I stared at him, lifted my hands to his shoulders and pressed down. I wasn’t done so he certainly wasn’t done. To my surprise, he resisted and buried his face in my neck, touching his tongue there.
“I was close,” I whispered.
“I know,” he answered, stil resisting the pressure of my hands.
I blinked at the ceiling.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
And he wasn’t.
He took me from nearly there to nearly there to nearly there and I tried to get him nearly there but only got so far as getting his belt unbuckled and the top button of his jeans undone. He did pul away to yank off his boots and socks but that was it.