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“Don’t go there,” he growled. “We’ll worry about later when it’s done.”
It’s done.
So, even though I knew it’d kill something inside me this time when he left, I gave him all of me.
I’d never be able to not to.
The hand supporting my butt moved forward, and he pressed deep against the seam of the jeans I was wearing, knowing exactly where to go. Where I wanted him.
I moaned into his mouth, my legs tightening around his torso to the point of strain, as I fell deeper into his kiss.
His hips continued to press me against the wall, but his hands went to work, sliding up my shirt, revealing the bareness of my belly. His hands stilled when he encountered the barely there pasties I was wearing.
And when I say barely, I mean truly barely. All it did was offer the most infinitesimal amount of support but was mostly another added layer in between my nipples and the outside world.
I’d found the pasties online last year, loving how they were enough to get rid of my nip prints and that I didn’t have to wear a bra at all anymore.
I mean, what was the point when you had such small boobs that wearing a bra only made them smaller?
“What is this?” he growled when he pulled away from my mouth.
His hands went to my shirt and yanked it off my head, revealing my bare upper body to him.
My hair slid forward out of the bun it’d been very loosely corralled in, temporarily concealing my nipples from him all over again.
He growled and gathered my hair into a single fist, pulling it off of my chest.
Then he stared at the flesh-colored nipple stickers.
“I don’t know what these are,” he said to me. “But I like them.”
“Nipple covers,” I breathed, pressing my hips into his hard belly.
He spun us fast, then all but dropped me on the bed before following me down just as fast.
Then he pulled the nipple cover off.
With. His. Teeth.
I died.
I died right then and there, watching as he pulled them off with the utmost care.
First one, then the other.
Once my nipples were free, he sucked each of them into his mouth one at a time, giving each a thorough reunion with his tongue and lips before pulling away and following the line of my belly down to my jeans.
The jeans came off in much the same fashion.
The buttons were undone—all five of them—with an ease that showed he’d done this many times before.
And with me, he had.
The first time he’d taken my pants off of me, I’d been wearing button-up jeans. He’d caught the top of my jeans with his fingers and tugged me to him, causing all of the buttons to come undone with just a gentle tug.
From then on, I purchased nothing but button-up jeans, mostly because every time I buttoned them up, I was reminded of the way his eyes had lit up when he’d divested me of them the first time.
Now, it was like a kick to the heart.
