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Authors: Erin McCarthy
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was straight, then as it descended to her temples, it began to wave, and by the time it reached her chin, it corkscrewed on down past her breasts.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, knowing it was stupid and trite, but sincerely meaning it. She was all things pink and soft and feminine.
He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe protest. Blush. But she didn’t. She said, with a sincere politeness he hadn’t heard in a long time, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Whether that was for the compliment or the fact that he had taken her to bed, he wasn’t entirely sure. He just knew that while Piper may have been letting him take the lead, she was directing him more than she knew. He bent over and kissed her softly, running his hand over her shoulder, down her arm, watching the goose bumps rise on her skin. This would be when he normally took a woman’s thighs in his hands, spread her, and worked her clitoris with his tongue until she came. Some came with hard bursts, arching and clawing, others with tight control. But all loosened and dampened so he could push inside and take his pleasure, sometimes after a nice, long cock sucking, depending on the woman.
But none of that felt right here. It all seemed too orchestrated, too remote. Funny how the most intimate of acts, oral sex, could feel more distant than kissing and touching a woman. He just wanted to feel Piper. To touch her. So he kissed her again and again, his tongue making sweet inroads into her moist mouth, while he lay over her, not crushing her, but brushing his body over hers, his right hand gliding softly over her arm, her breast, her belly, her hip.
Their mouths were swollen, her eyes glazed as she gazed up at him, her hands lightly on the waistband of his boxer briefs. The air was humid from the rain, the last remnants of summer clinging to the house, all quiet but for the soft drumming of the storm remnants and their ragged breathing. He almost thought this brush and tangle of lips, this slumberous mating of their mouths, could be enough to satisfy him.
Almost.
But when she gave a tug at his briefs, he knew it was a lost cause. He was going in, and Lord knew when he’d be coming back out.
Piper tried to catch her breath, her inner thighs on fire as Brady kissed her senseless. She would have thought that he would go right for the good stuff, either oral sex, or straight-up tab-A-in-slot-B penetration. She was prepared for that, had known precisely what she was getting into. You don’t drop your robe with a man you hardly know and expect a whole lot of romance. It just didn’t work that way, and she’d known that and had done it anyway.
Yet Brady was proving to be quite the man of mystery. He had picked her up in a move that had nearly had her orgasming in his arms, then had spent she wasn’t even sure how long kissing her senseless, his hands roaming, but in a way that was more loverlike than one-night stand. He was throwing her off. Making her feel vulnerable. But at the same time, she knew that this was perfect. That if it had gone down the other way, she wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much. It would have been a gesture, a brazen, I’m-a-woman statement, but it wouldn’t have been her. This was more her. It was like he had been able to understand that, to offer her exactly what she needed, to have her relaxed and pliant and so very, very turned on.
She was so achy, so desperate for more, for a sense of completion, that she started to move beneath him, trying to force him to take stronger action. He didn’t. He didn’t even slide a finger between her legs. He randomly, and without any real sense of purpose, would flicker across her nipple, but that was it, and she was going to die. She decided that it was absolutely true, that bullshit lie boys told girls at fifteen, that if they didn’t have sex they would die. Piper was going to expire into an early grave if Brady didn’t stop being so gentlemanly and take his
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, knowing it was stupid and trite, but sincerely meaning it. She was all things pink and soft and feminine.
He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe protest. Blush. But she didn’t. She said, with a sincere politeness he hadn’t heard in a long time, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Whether that was for the compliment or the fact that he had taken her to bed, he wasn’t entirely sure. He just knew that while Piper may have been letting him take the lead, she was directing him more than she knew. He bent over and kissed her softly, running his hand over her shoulder, down her arm, watching the goose bumps rise on her skin. This would be when he normally took a woman’s thighs in his hands, spread her, and worked her clitoris with his tongue until she came. Some came with hard bursts, arching and clawing, others with tight control. But all loosened and dampened so he could push inside and take his pleasure, sometimes after a nice, long cock sucking, depending on the woman.
But none of that felt right here. It all seemed too orchestrated, too remote. Funny how the most intimate of acts, oral sex, could feel more distant than kissing and touching a woman. He just wanted to feel Piper. To touch her. So he kissed her again and again, his tongue making sweet inroads into her moist mouth, while he lay over her, not crushing her, but brushing his body over hers, his right hand gliding softly over her arm, her breast, her belly, her hip.
Their mouths were swollen, her eyes glazed as she gazed up at him, her hands lightly on the waistband of his boxer briefs. The air was humid from the rain, the last remnants of summer clinging to the house, all quiet but for the soft drumming of the storm remnants and their ragged breathing. He almost thought this brush and tangle of lips, this slumberous mating of their mouths, could be enough to satisfy him.
Almost.
But when she gave a tug at his briefs, he knew it was a lost cause. He was going in, and Lord knew when he’d be coming back out.
Piper tried to catch her breath, her inner thighs on fire as Brady kissed her senseless. She would have thought that he would go right for the good stuff, either oral sex, or straight-up tab-A-in-slot-B penetration. She was prepared for that, had known precisely what she was getting into. You don’t drop your robe with a man you hardly know and expect a whole lot of romance. It just didn’t work that way, and she’d known that and had done it anyway.
Yet Brady was proving to be quite the man of mystery. He had picked her up in a move that had nearly had her orgasming in his arms, then had spent she wasn’t even sure how long kissing her senseless, his hands roaming, but in a way that was more loverlike than one-night stand. He was throwing her off. Making her feel vulnerable. But at the same time, she knew that this was perfect. That if it had gone down the other way, she wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much. It would have been a gesture, a brazen, I’m-a-woman statement, but it wouldn’t have been her. This was more her. It was like he had been able to understand that, to offer her exactly what she needed, to have her relaxed and pliant and so very, very turned on.
She was so achy, so desperate for more, for a sense of completion, that she started to move beneath him, trying to force him to take stronger action. He didn’t. He didn’t even slide a finger between her legs. He randomly, and without any real sense of purpose, would flicker across her nipple, but that was it, and she was going to die. She decided that it was absolutely true, that bullshit lie boys told girls at fifteen, that if they didn’t have sex they would die. Piper was going to expire into an early grave if Brady didn’t stop being so gentlemanly and take his
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