Page 42 of Theta

"So you realize we were both coming to thoughts of each other at the same time?"

“Kinda weird to think about."

"It is, isn’t it?"

For a moment, neither of us speaks, nor do we move, our eyes locked. Seeking. Searching. Searing. Needing.

A snore fills the silence, and instead of being funny or annoying, it's reassuring. It means we're still effectively alone.

Story's eyes flick and flit, the bluest of blue, heated with desire, soft with affection. "Killy, I want you so fucking bad. I’ve wanted you for years."

"You don't even know what you're talking about, Story. I've been out of my fucking mind about you since I was twelve."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"Fuck if I know," I mutter.

I kiss her, soft and slow at first and then with increasing intensity, until we're both gasping and groaning as our mouths clash and crush and slip and tilt and taste. My hands claw into her sides, soft skin warm and smooth. But I need more, and her invitation couldn't be any more clear, so I finally give myself permission to take what I want, to give her what we both want.

I push my hands up her flat, firm belly and hesitate in the lee of the undersides of her breasts. Her tongue stabs into my mouth, and she shoves her hands around down into the back of my open jeans, cupping my bare ass. Her touch makes my cock jerk, and my jeans sag, droop, and then slump around my ankles.

The hunger in her kiss is my undoing, the end of my self-control. I strip her sports bra upward, and she stretches her arms up overhead, and I peel it off, toss it at our feet while stepping awkwardly and self-consciously out of my jeans.

She steps back, arms barred over her chest, hugging herself with a sly, sultry smile. "Say please, Killy."

"Please, Story."

"Please what?"

"Let me see you. Drop your arms."

Another brief hesitation, and then she lowers her arms to her sides. And just like that, her breasts are bare for me.

"Dear fucking lord," I whisper. "You're so goddamned perfect."

She really is.

My erection reaches critical mass, pulsing with a hot, unbearable ache. For a few moments, I just stare at her, drink in her beauty. But then my hands remember their greed and I reach for her. She shifts within reach, her blueblueblue eyes unwavering and bold on mine, and her breath puffs out of her in a soft sigh as my hands close around her waist. I drift my hands upward, and her breath catches, as does mine, and now neither of us are breathing and I can't even swallow past the hot breath lodged in my throat—this is happening. She's not just allowing this, but wants it. Needs it as much as I do.

Her breasts are big and round and high on her chest, hanging slightly heavier at the bottom with her plump, pink nipples tilted upward. As she sucks in a shuddering breath at the slow upward slide of my hands, her breasts shiver and shake ever so slightly, trembling with each subtle movement and shift. I watch her nipples peak and harden and tighten into thick prominence as I, again struggling to get oxygen into my lungs, scoop the heavy weight of her breasts into my hands.

And now my cock pounds and pulses as I’ve never felt in my life, even when I used to wake up in the middle of the night out of a wet dream, seconds from making a mess of myself, with images of Story dancing and fading in my mind. And now she's here, real and in front of me, and the breasts I've fantasized about for so long are mine to touch, to see.

"Ohhh, Killy," Story whispers. "The way you touch me…"

"You're even sexier than I imagined," I murmur, rolling my thumb over her nipple. "These tits. So incredible. More than I could have fantasized. And trust me, I've fucking fantasized."

She doesn't answer, her eyes shuttering with a flutter as I gently swipe my thumbs over her nipples again, and then I lift her tits and let them fall just to watch the way they move. She whimpers, and again my cock pulses—this time, so hard I feel a frisson of worry that I'm about to bust a nut in my pants like the thirteen-year-old I was when I first discovered the wonder of the female figure, specifically Story's.

I clench down on the ache in my cock, forcing myself back from the edge, groaning at the effort.

"What's wrong, Killy?" Story asks.

"I…fuck." My cheeks are hot, my stomach flipping. "Barely touched you and I'm…I'm on the fucking edge like a goddamn child.”

Her eyes widen to saucers, and then a sensual smile spreads slowly across her face. "Is that so?" The look on her face is downright predatory, and the flipping of my stomach and the aching of my cock are nearly debilitating.

Another reassuring snort-snore-sigh echoes through the flat.