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Hayden, my old boyfriend, used to play this song. On open mic night. All the fucking time. But he never achieved the quick, flowing ease with which Drew’s fingers coax the melody from the guitar.
Half laughing, Drew sings. He isn’t perfect, his voice drifts off-key and is rough, but it doesn’t matter because he sells the song. I can hear my Grandpa Joe’s voice in my head telling me that this boy could sell ice in Antarctica.
Drew doesn’t finish the song, and I know it isn’t because he can’t, it’s because he’s not trying to show off. He’s just messing around. He proves this when he catches my eye and grins wide. I’m in his thrall.
I grin when he stops and begins to thump on the side of the guitar and belt out the words to “We Will Rock You.”
And then I laugh. Because he gives it his all. Makes an ass of himself, and clearly doesn’t care. And suddenly I don’t care either. I join him, shouting out the words along with him.
“You dork,” I say when we finish.
“Look who’s talking.”
Drew begins to laugh, and I lose it again. We feed off each other, laughing until I’m holding my side. It isn’t really that funny, what we’re laughing over. Maybe it’s just a way to break the tension that always pulls tight between us. Or maybe it’s because he, like me, hasn’t really laughed just for the hell of it in a long time. I don’t know. I don’t even care. It’s good not to care about anything for a while.
As if by some silent, mutual agreement our laughter dies down as one. And we’re left staring at each other, both a little breathless. His gaze goes molten. It’s like he’s flicked a switch, leaving me in the dark, and he’s my light. He’s all I can see.
The chair creaks beneath him as he slowly lowers the guitar. I can’t move. I can’t catch my breath. I’m so hot my skin hurts. There’s an ache between my legs and in my breasts. A throbbing beat that matches my heart. I can only pant and watch him rise.
His mouth is hard, his eyes glittering darkly beneath half-lowered lids as he comes for me. I find myself leaning back, like I’m afraid of him, when really, it’s all I can do not to beg him to hurry up and touch me. He stops at the foot of the bed and looks me over, an insolent, languid perusal that I should find insulting but only makes me burn hotter.
When he speaks, his voice is rough, quick, sharp. It scrapes against my heightened nerves, shouts in the quiet room, even though it’s a murmur. “Lift your top.”
Oh, God. My head goes light and then heavy, my breath chuffing out in strangled half gasps. I fumble with the bottom of my sweater. Cool air kisses my skin as I expose my belly.
He merely watches, waiting. My breasts ache so bad that when I ease my sweater over them, I whimper. I’m not wearing a bra. He had to have expected as much; my breasts are too big to hide the fact. Even so, his nostrils flare on a sharp breath.
And then he’s coming for me, the slow, rolling stride of a lion. He crawls over me, a veritable mountain of testosterone and intent. One thick thigh shoves between my legs, pressing there, giving me sweet relief and soft agony. When his hot, wet mouth closes over my nipple, I groan so loud it scares me a little. Not him. He sucks me harder, and we fall back into the bed. I don’t have another coherent thought.
Drew
Anna’s tits, naked and in the full light of day, drive me out of my mind. I can barely think, I’m shaking so badly. Her tight nipple fills my mouth, and I flick my tongue over it, loving the way she arches into me, her breath coming in quick pants. I let her go with a loud pop, then lean back to look at her again.
Holy hell, she’s perfect to me. Firm and teardrop-shaped breasts so full they spill over a bit on the sides of her narrow frame. A smooth, luminous cream color, they quiver with each breath she takes. Her nipples, one of which I’ve sucked to a wet peak, are a dark, rosy brown. Brown sugar topping vanilla ice cream. I want to eat her up.
With a grunt of impatience, I tug off the sweater that’s bunched around her neck, and her wild red curls tumble about her face. Then I tear off my shirt; I’m too hot to breathe with it on.
She laughs a little, until I sit back on my haunches and pull off her pants and panties in one swift move. Then she simply watches me with her big green eyes. But I see the way her fingers curl into the covers and her beautiful tits lift with each breath she takes.
Lust flares through my veins like fire. It gets worse as my gaze travels over her body.
Jesus. Her waist is tiny compared to the rounded swells of her hips that ease into full, smooth thighs, and long calves. Freckles cover her shoulders, even a few on her hips. Endless cream sprinkled with sugar, and laid out on her bed like an offering of everything I’ve ever wanted.
My attention settles on the place I need to sink into. That small triangle of curls, so dark red it’s like a valentine between her sweet thighs. Lots of girls wax themselves bare. It’s always creeped me out, like I’m with a preteen. Not Anna. She’s perfect for me.
Suddenly I can’t breathe right. My voice comes out rough and strangled. “Spread your legs and let me see that gorgeous pussy.”
Her entire body tightens, her soft mouth parting on an agitated breath. Oh, but her eyes gleam bright. She likes my words raw and unfiltered. I’ve never talked much during sex before, never thought to do it. I don’t know why it’s different with Anna. Maybe it’s because I want her so bad, I don’t think about anything but the blinding, gut-wrenching lust and the need to bring her along for the ride. That she seems to get off on it as much as I do has me shaking again. In this way, at least, she is all mine.
Her trembling thighs part. She glistens there, her pink lips plump and wet.
“You’re so beautiful,” I rasp. “So beau—”
I can’t talk.
The air between us goes thick. She spreads wider, without shame, without artifice. She’s not even looking at my face, but at the bulge of my crotch where my hard-on is desperately trying to punch through my jeans. With an unsteady hand, I snap the button and pull down my zipper, the sound loud in the quiet room. I’m so fucking hard, my dick springs straight up, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Her breath hitches, her teeth catching the plump curve of her lip. I hold her gaze as I reach down and give myself a light stroke, enough to make my dick surge, but not nearly enough to satisfy me. She watches the movement, and her breath becomes agitated.
