Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,63
she kicked it away. On fire with need, she strolled across the living room. She stroked her skin, letting her fingertips linger on her underarms’ delicate skin, in the hollows of her neck, the abundant flesh of her breasts, relishing the touch of her own hands across her sensitized skin.
Brandon watched unblinking, his eyes indigo with arousal.
She rubbed her hands against her nipples, hot, taunting pebbles, and rolled them in her fingers, reveling in the sharp sensation that shot through her. The look on Brandon’s face told her that he was fantasizing about touching her too. Imagining the pleasure they would both receive if it were his hands on her body, caressing, exploring, arousing.
She danced in front of him, leaning forward to brush her near-naked breasts across his face. His lips opened and his tongue darted out, trying to capture a rosy bead, but Leanne wouldn’t give him what he wanted.
“Uh-uh,” she warned as she twirled away, shooting a teasing glace back over her shoulder and savoring the desire written in his tense body language. “I told you the customer doesn’t get to touch the dancer while she’s performing. I’ll take suggestions, though.”
He grinned wolfishly at her compromise, his teeth flashing in the dim light.
“I’ve got a suggestion,” he growled. “Come here and put me out of my misery.”
She laughed. “No.”
“Please.”
“The song isn’t over yet. I want you to get your money’s worth,” she taunted. “But maybe I can give you something else to think about while I’m on stage.”
She stroked her hands across her quivering stomach, tracing the indent of her belly button. Then, their eyes clashing in passionate promise, her hands roamed lower, brushing against the lace boundaries of her thong. She slipped her hand beneath the elastic, letting her head loll back as the sensations rushed through her body, her fingers brushing against her clit, wet with her own need. She’d never pleasured herself with someone watching. She always imagined that it would feel furtive or desperate but it didn’t. It simply increased her own desire even more, as she touched herself and fantasized that Brandon was touching her too.
“How’s this?” she asked, never letting up on the circling pressure.
His growl of lust was all the answer she needed for her to continue her daring exploration. Brandon’s eyes were riveted to her body, his breathing sharp and shallow, audible even above the music’s swell. His hands were clenched against the sofa, his face flushed and his mouth open, as if he were running a race and couldn’t catch his breath.
“Jesus! Leanne, you are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his voice so hoarse that she could barely distinguish the words. But she didn’t need to hear them to understand what he was saying.
“Do you like it?” She moaned as she drove her fingers deeper inside her slick channel, her thumb pressing against her button. “Do you like it when I touch myself, Brandon? Do you wish you were touching me right now? Kissing me? Fingering me?”
“Yes,” he hissed, his eyes hooded with passion. “I want to be inside you. Touching you.” His hands worked frantically at his fly, fighting to release the zipper. His cock, rock hard and glistening, sprang free, curving up to rest against his stomach. With a furious hand, he began to stroke his shaft, matching her rhythm with his hand, never looking away from her moist pink core, where her fingers dipped and played.
She attempted a twirl. She stumbled again but it didn’t matter. This was the sexiest thing she had ever done. It didn’t have to be perfect. It just had to feel right. And it did. With her free hand, she worked her thong down her legs and kicked it away. Her pussy began to clench and tremble, an orgasm close at hand. Turning to grasp the doorframe, she flexed her legs and bent wide, letting him see every private and concealed sight. Her back arched and she thrust her ass high, undulating to the music. She slid another finger inside, and she could feel the pulse flutter and contract round her hand.
“Please,” he begged, the sound of his hand working his flesh a counterpoint to Leanne’s own wild moans. “Please let me watch you come.”
Il me dit des mots d’amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.
Edith reached the climax of the song. There were no words of love in their relationship—they both knew the score and nothing could change that now—but when Brandon spoke,