the bathroom, flicked the switch and left the door ajar. The light spilled out and threw shadows over the bed.
I looked back at Grace. She appeared adorably awkward, folding and unfolding her arms as if she didn’t know what she could touch. Everything, I said silently. I would show her instead.
Crossing over to her in two strides, I swung her up in my arms. She gave a squeak and patted my chest. “Nice,” she smiled.
“That’s not the only thing you’ll be saying about me tonight.” I told her with a cocky smile.
“Do you prefer the religious exclamations like ‘oh God,’ or do you have a bedroom nickname?” she sassed. I liked her when she was teasing me. Placing her on the bed, I knelt down next to her.
“I think you’ll be too incoherent to form full words,” I taunted.
“Big talk, no action,” she countered.
“I’ll give you action.” I leaned over, kissing her neck and stroking my hand on either side of her throat, down her chest and over the plump rise of her breasts.
I felt the thrum of her heart speed up against the press of my lips against her throat. I opened my mouth and sucked gently at the pulse point. I pushed her shirt upward but instead of encountering bare flesh, I felt the uneven pattern, like the lace of the panties she wore last night.
I pushed up on one arm and raised the shirt higher. “What’s this?” It looked like a very sexy undergarment made of lace, a shiny fabric and a ribbon that held the two together. Her fairly demure outfit of T-shirt and white denim skirt hid a very naughty secret.
I urged her to sit up, and I swept the shirt off her body. I barely restrained myself tearing the entire thing off. Surely that was what they were made for. I took a moment to admire the picture she made. The red lace cupped her breasts and the dark of her nipples could be seen through the fabric.
I bent down and drew one nipple into my mouth. Her hands crept into my hair. Encouraged, I brought one hand up to cup the neglected nipple. I rolled one nipple with my tongue and lips, and plucked and tugged the other with my fingers.
The other hand I placed on her bare, silky thigh. No signs of resistance met me; instead, her legs opened slightly. I accepted the silent invitation to move upward, pushing the denim skirt as I moved to expose more of her tender flesh. The lace fabric between her thighs was wet and the metal snaps gave way to my questing fingers. I rubbed her gently, petting her until she raised up to meet my hand to force a harder pressure. I slipped one finger inside of her.
So very tight. I groaned against her breast. Carefully, I pushed the other finger inside of her. I kissed her then, my tongue invading her mouth with the same rhythm my fingers pumped into her. I curled my fingers upward, feeling for that soft spongy flesh of her G spot.
I knew I found it when her body tensed against mine. When she made to move away from the unfamiliar sensation, I blocked her with my thighs, settling my cock against the back of my hand, rubbing against myself as I stroked her. I teased and caressed her with every skill I had ever possessed. I kissed her with every ounce of energy inside me. I felt her body tense; her thighs closed hard around my hand. Her fingernails dug into my shoulders, and I reveled in the pain.
I could come this way, but I didn’t want to. I thought of marching in the desert. Of my finance exam. Of cleaning up after the rager downstairs. I kept stroking her until I felt her release rush down my fingers onto my palm and heard the sweet, soft cries of her orgasm ring in the night air.
“I promise to admire this later, but this thing has to come off,” I told her. She nodded mutely at me but didn’t move. Her eyes were filled with wonder. Not just a virgin, I thought with fierce pleasure, but no one had ever made her come. Or at least not that hard.
I wrestled her skirt off and tried to remove the laces. Eventually she helped me push the lace and ribbon concoction off. Her body was flushed from passion. I stroked my hands all over, touching her throat, molding her breasts into