Page 6 of Touch Me

I brush my lips over his, then sit up and slowly unbutton myshirt. Technically, it’s his. I’d taken one of his old button-downs and whackedthe sleeves off to make it summer-friendly. Then I tied it at my waist for acheap version of a halter.

Now, I untie it, then slip it off my shoulders and let itfall to the decking. I wriggle out of my shorts next, and let them fall to theground, too.

“This is getting very interesting,” he says as his eyes skimover my very ratty panties—the comfy ones with loose elastic around thethighs—and my utterly un-sexy sports bra.

“Is it? How about we make it more interesting?”

His narrowed eyes are full of heat. “I could be convinced.”

Slowly, I undo the hook and eyes holding my bra together atmy cleavage. I drop it on Ryan’s head, making him choke back a laugh. Then Irise up a bit and start to shimmy out of the panties.

He presses his hand over mine. “Leave them.”

I lean back a bit. “Oh?”

He cups my chin, then tugs me forward until I’m justslightly off balance. “Tell me, wife of mine. To what do I owe this verydelightful pleasure?”

“Are you filing a complaint?”

“Hardly.” He slowly looks me up and down, his gaze as potentas a caress and somehow even more intimate. I feel the warmth spread through mybody, the intensity of his gaze making me feel more than a little exposed,something I never feel around Ryan.

“What?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer. Not with words,anyway. Instead, he traces his fingertip along the loose thigh-band of mypanties, then slips it just barely inside so that I feel the heat of his skinin that sensitive area between my thigh and my core.

A shudder runs through my body, a sensual rush, and I closemy eyes, arching back just a little as his fingers stroke and tease, dancingclose to my clit, but never quite close enough, and never inside me.

“I love the way you feel,” he whispers, as I rock my hips,silently begging for more. “But that’s not the way this game is played.”

“Then teach me the rules.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I whisper.

“Kitten.” His voice is hard now, the soft edges buried underthe weight of his own need. “Tell me all of it.”

“You. Please, god, Hunter, I want more.” Even the nameexcites me. It’s what I call him when he’s claiming me. Not just a nickname ora surname; it’s who and what he is. “Please,” I beg. “I want you touching me.Fucking me.” I grind against him in a futile attempt to make his fingers dancemore. Play more.

Play.

I close my eyes, thinking about the feel of his palm on myass. Silk ties at my wrists and ankles. The pleasure of submitting completely.Of revealing myself completely. And knowing that in the moment when he takesme, he’s fully revealed to me, too.

Is that what I want now? Heat? Submission?

More accurately, is that what I need?

I gasp as he thrusts his fingers inside me. The move ishard, unexpected, and I cry out as every cell in my body surrenders to him.

“That’s it, Kitten,” he says as I rock against him, everythrust driving his fingers deeper inside and teasing my clit just a little moreagainst the pad of his thumb.

I open my eyes, my hips still moving, that wonderfulpressure still building as my breath stutters and my body burns. Our eyes meet,and in that moment I know just how much he wants me. The knowledge humbles me,because how the hell did a wreck of a girl like me land a husband like RyanHunter?

“Hunter.” His name is a plea, and he shakes his head, thenslowly pulls his hand away. I whimper, but he only grins. “Show me,” he says,sliding back so that he’s sitting more upright on the chaise. “Show me exactlywhat you want.”

“You know what I want.” I glance down to where his very hardcock is not even remotely hidden under the fleece of his gray sweatpants. Iuntie them, then tug the loose material down, revealing what I am confident isamong the top five perfect cocks of all time.

I tease him with the tip of my tongue, from the base to thetip, and am rewarded with his long, deep sigh of pleasure. Then I take him infurther, but not too far. This is a dance. A tease. A courtship. And as mymouth makes promises, my hands tug the sweats further down.

I leave my ministrations for just a moment to tug them allthe way off, and his low groan of protest is like the highest praise of all.