by Mia West
He couldn’t watch her here and carried the uncertainty of that in the stiffness of his spine. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze, before drawing her soothing circles on his back. He responded with something too low to hear.
She stopped stroking. “What?”
He turned his head so she could see his profile. “I said, harder. Please.”
Something kicked in her belly, and she had a sudden image of him in the hospital, subject to sponge baths and probably tissue cleansing before that. Had the nurses been gentle, or had they had to be rough?
Without thinking, she gave his shoulder blade a soft bite. His breath hitched, and when she began scrubbing his back, he groaned and leaned into her, inviting her to dig in. She did, using her free hand for leverage against the solid bulk of him.
She could see the scars on his left side now, but when she pulled up slightly, he pressed them back into her cloth. So she treated them to the same punishing scrub as the rest of his back. Working her way down, she dipped into the concavity at the base of his spine. She had to move her other hand down to keep her balance, and placed it on his abdomen so she could press him back into the cloth. As casually as she could, she slid her fingertips through the hair below his navel before settling her hand. He covered it with his own, and a shock zipped up her arm at the calluses on his palm. She scrubbed and scrubbed, pressing on his belly, and he gripped her hand. Would he move it lower? Or was he holding it in place? Lost in the implications of both actions, she knelt in the pool without realizing. The next thing she knew, she was nose to cheek with his ass.
His right side was even paler than the rest of him, practically glowing in the moonlight. The left side appeared darker, the skin tones uneven. The moon set everything in shades of lavender and charcoal, and she wondered what colors those might be in daylight. Her heart wanted to caress those scars with a light touch. A deeper, more primal instinct, and one he had already responded to well, was to nip him with her teeth.
She did, not hard, but distinctly enough that his hand came back and pressed her head against him.
After a few seconds, she sat back and resumed washing him, loving how his musculature flexed as he worked to maintain his balance. His cleft was dark, intriguing, and the urge to smooth her fingertip (her nose, her tongue) down into it was strong. But she wasn’t sure how he’d react, so she contented herself with a thorough washing, pushing up from his thigh on each side with enough force to part his cheeks a few times. At some point her free hand moved down to the front of his thigh. He trembled under it.
She lavished attention on the backs of his legs, enjoying how her motions plastered his dark body hair, which eventually sprang back to its natural whorls. His calves felt tight, and here she temporarily set down her cloth to press her thumbs into his muscle, right leg, then left. He lifted each in turn to help her, putting the fingertips of one hand on her shoulder for balance. She worked down to his ankles, then his feet, and then she couldn’t wait any longer. She fished the cloth from the pool and moved to kneel in front of him.
If his cock had been unsure before, it was all systems go now. It jutted at her, thick in the shadow of his body. Placing a hand on his buttock, she scrubbed the fronts of his legs, shins to knees to thighs, eye to eye with his cock, until she could reasonably claim that its turn had come. She looked up to find Evan staring at her, a deep crease between his brows, his jaw ticking.
“Soap?” she asked.
He swallowed. “I dropped it,” he said, his voice soft and raw.
She swept the surface of the pool until she found it, a smooth bar with a bergamot scent. She used it to build a rich lather on her bare hands.
She touched him.
Chapter 7
Evan grabbed her head with both hands. It was either that or fall over. He jerked his hands back to his sides as soon as he thought he could stay upright on his own. As much as he hoped she might (someday, please, maybe now, or later, whatever) put her mouth on him, he didn’t want her to think he would force her.
But God, her fingers. It was like they were everywhere at the same time. Slicking his dick from root to tip. Sliding around his balls. Slipping into his pubes and pulling tight. Until now he had been able to pretend (almost, sort of) that this was just a really great bath, a little frisky but mostly Laine saying thanks for letting her stay in his place (in his bed). But not now. This went beyond thanks. He’d never demand it, that was for sure. And she knew what she was doing. He guessed if you studied sexy shit all day, you picked up some pointers.
But it wasn’t just that she knew her way around. He was pretty sure she was enjoying herself, and in ways she might not even realize, like how her mouth was hanging open a little and she was rubbing her breast on his leg. Even in the moonlight he could see her nipples pushing against her shirt. No bra, of course not, she’d come from bed (his bed) and hadn’t even put her skirt on. He couldn’t see them very well, and now they were soaked from kneeling in the pool, but her panties looked exactly right, pretty and practical like her. He was going to peel those panties off, and he was going to take his sweet fucking time about it, but not right now. Not until she had finished working whatever magic she had in mind.
He stepped his legs apart in case her magic needed more room.
She looked up at him. She winked.
His knees almost buckled.
With both hands, she surrounded him in a whole-dick grip, then slid her soapy hands toward her. Again she did it, and again. Then she kept one at his base and used her other thumb to circle the sensitive spot under his head. His balls tightened in response. He breathed out slow and deep, willing them to drop, to stay where she could get to them. She didn’t wait for them and went looking, one of her hands gently kneading his sac, coaxing them down again. Then she gave them a little tug and circled the top of his sac with thumb and forefinger to keep them there. Satisfied she had them where she wanted them, she turned back to his dick, gripping and releasing on each upward pull, letting him bounce heavily back into her hand each time. He watched, fascinated and—if he was honest—pretty proud of his dick. It hurt, but he would stand it. He hadn’t been this hard in years, not with fantasies, not with magazines or books or videos, not even with Stacy—
Fuck.
Stacy.
The thought of her, of what she had done, hit like a dull blow to his gut, and he staggered a step. God damn it. Why now of all times? Why here, on a roof in Spain, for Christ’s sake, with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, worshiping his mangled dick as if it were good as new?
He pulled his hands away from his face and looked down to find Laine watching him. Her hands had stilled.
“Should I stop?”
He tried to clear his throat. “Please don’t.”
“Please don’t what?”
She wanted a clear directive. “Please don’t stop,” he said.
She looked at him for a moment longer, then tilted her head to one side. “May I do more?”
“Fuck yes.”
She smiled and, holding his gaze, filled a cupped hand with water and splashed it on him. For several seconds, she focused on rinsing him off. Her hands made the same rounds—dick, sac, pubes—and when she seemed satisfied all the soap was gone, she grabbed his hands and put them on her head. “Hold on tight, Ohio,” she said with a grin, and then she was on him.
God help him, he might have pulled out some of her hair.
Because she wasn’t gentle. One hand circled his dick and gripped hard as she drove the rest of him into her mouth. He felt her tongue press up along the new seam underneath as she dragged his dick back out and (yes, thank you, God) caught the rim of his head just enough with her teeth. Her mouth came off him with a pop that they probably heard down at the church (he really needed to go sometime) and then she sucked him back in again. He got the feeling she had no idea what his dick looked like, or she wouldn’t be going to town on him like this. She might not touch it at all. He sure as hell
wasn’t going to stop her to give her a tour. He’d do it later. Maybe. Or maybe they could just stay in the dark? Fuck, why did he have to think so goddamn much?
Thinking became a nonproblem when she pulled back and slipped her middle finger into her mouth. It glistened when it came out. Staring at it, he tried every mind trick he’d ever heard about to lead that finger where he wanted it. Afterward, when his brain was actually working, he would realize he could have just asked. But in the moment, seeing her dripping finger sent his brain waves into berserk static. Hers must have synced up, though, because that warm, wet finger came up behind him and slid down the crack of his ass until it rested on his hole.
Praise Jesus, he was a fucking Jedi.
Laine looked up at him. She and her finger were waiting.
“Yes,” he said, knowing he sounded half-strangled and not giving three fucks.
Holding his eyes, she tongued his dick. Circled the head slowly. Dipped into his slit.
He gripped her hair.
With her front hand, she trapped his balls again, pulling down just enough to give his belly a warm tug, the slightest warning. Pursing her lips, she smoothed them over his head before pressing her tongue to the underside. When she took him into her mouth this time, she did so slowly, no teeth, all tongue and lips and soft palate. She sucked. She tugged. She nibbled. And then that wet finger began to move.
It made tiny circles against his pucker—pressing, easing up, pressing, easing up—until he thought he’d lose his mind. She must have sensed it (maybe she was a Jedi too) because on her next long suck of his dick, she pushed her finger past his sphincter and kept pushing until her palm smacked his taint.
He grunted.
That was all he got out before she was moving again. Everything about her was in motion now—her mouth pulling on his dick, hand tugging his sac, finger sliding in and out of his ass, not to mention her nipples straining against her flimsy shirt, and her hips, which pumped up and down in the pool as if she couldn’t stop them. Widening his stance even more, he looked up at the sky, but the city light drowned the stars so he looked back down at the miracle between his legs. Forcing himself to let up on her hair, he cupped her head instead. He couldn’t help pumping into her mouth a little bit, and she greeted him with a loud groan that reverberated down his dick. The hand at his ass seated itself, and she began to use short, tight strokes there. The pressure inside pulled a wordless half-shout from his throat.
She was a fucking genius, his Iowa, and God bless libraries, every one, and also schools that sent gorgeous, giving women overseas to read dirty books.
“Keep doing that,” he pleaded.
She doubled down, if that was even possible, pulling and pushing, sucking and moaning and swirling and twisting until—
“Fuck, I’m gonna—”
He came in her mouth, every part of his body rigid and focused on shooting cum. When he was able to take a breath, she kneaded his dick and pressed her finger in his ass, and he shot more. She milked him for longer than he’d known was possible, until it really was painful. Slowly, he came back down onto his heels and eased her hands away. She gave his dick one last kiss and stood.
“You,” he said.
She smiled and bent to retrieve the washcloth, cleaning the finger that thirty seconds earlier had been inside him. She tossed the cloth to the rooftop and faced him again. “Yes?”
“You,” he said, chuckling.
She grinned. “You’re on repeat. What about me?”
“You’re in trouble,” he said, and squatting low, pushed her over his shoulder and splashed out of the pool.
“Ah!” she yelled, writhing and laughing. “Put me down!”
“Hush, Iowa.” He smacked her ass.
She squealed, which he was totally going to tease her about later, but right now the only thing going through his head was panties, panties, panties.
Stooping to grab his towel, which brought another squeal and another ass smack, he carried her to the far side of the roof. “Got a surprise for you,” he said and carefully set her on her feet.
Her reaction was immediate. “Oh!” she gasped and looked down. “Grass?”
He spread the towel. “Top secret lawn. Special clearance only.” He leaned down and spoke low into her ear. “Lie down, please.”
Another oh, this one barely a breath, and then she stretched out below him.
He joined her, supported on one elbow and looked her in the eye. “You’re still in trouble. It’s good trouble,” he said, plucking at the top elastic of her panties, “but I want to make sure it’s okay.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “Well, everything but intercourse until we have a condom. Cool?”
Until. “Cool,” he said. “Now these have got to go.”
Her breath sighed out of her, until nothing moved but her eyes, bright and wide in the moonlight.
He moved to kneel between her legs, spreading her just enough to accommodate his thighs. Smoothing two fingertips over the damp fabric, he pressed it to her skin. Above the panties, her abdomen rose and fell unevenly. He stroked a thumb up the light fuzz leading to her bellybutton. Her skin felt warm under his, and pulsed with her heartbeat. Leaning over, he dipped his tongue into her navel.
She sucked a big breath.
He grinned to himself. “Just getting started, troublemaker.”
Gripping her hips in his hands, he moved his mouth to her waistband and slipped his tongue underneath, licking her from one hip bone to the other. He raised his head and gave her a serious look. “Removing panties is a delicate operation. Gotta work from the outside in.”
“Oh.”
“This might take a while.”
“Fuck,” she whispered, and her head fell back to the grass.
Spreading her thighs, he pushed his tongue under one of the leg bands, near the top. Slowly (maddeningly, he hoped), he swiped a wet trail under the band, down, down, until his mouth was even with her pussy. He pulled up to look at it, tugged the fabric tight so that it molded to the contours of her sweet lips. He leaned down to breathe her in, but the bathwater had washed away her scent.
Mission: get it back.
He repeated the lick on the other leg band. When he reached her lips this time, he pushed his tongue a little farther under the fabric and waggled the tip.
She gasped.
He sat up. “And roll over,” he said, casual as a masseuse.
“Tease,” she grumbled but turned herself over. Her ass cheeks squeezed together a few times as she settled herself, and then she was still.
Waiting for him.
He laid kisses along her waistband, lifting the hem of her shirt to trail a few up her back. Hooking a finger into the elastic, he drew it down to the top of her crack and touched his tongue to the dip there.
She squeaked, her hands clutching at the grass.
Easing her waistband back into place, he shifted to the elastic at one leg. Her activity in the pool and subsequent ride on his shoulder had caused her panties to ride up, showing him two tantalizingly plump crescents of ass. Ignoring the panties for the moment, he set his tongue to the crease where her leg became her butt and licked toward her center.
Moaning loudly, she pushed her ass up into his mouth. He pressed her back down and snapped her elastic. He followed the same path on the other side, with the same results. Pushing her legs together, he crouched over them and held down her hips with his hands. She squirmed, causing the panties to ride even higher. Hooking his thumbs into the leg bands, he pulled them up, wedging the fabric high in her crack. Then he lowered his head and used his nose to prod the tender skin where her upper thighs met. She kicked her feet and panted. He opened his mouth wide, and bit lightly on one round cheek, drawing a sigh from her. Then he set his stubbly chin almost as low as her pussy and scraped it up her crack.
She shouted and bucked.
He rolled off. “Turn over please.”
She whirled on him. “Are you going to take these panti
es off or not?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Soon?”
“What’s wrong, Iowa? Are you not enjoying your stay in Barcelona?”
She fell back on the grass and muttered something he was probably glad he didn’t hear.
But far be it from him to be a bad host, and so he slipped the offending panties down over her hips, her knees, her feet, and tossed them aside. She had a sweet little patch of dark hair on her mound. Everything else was shaved. He ran a knuckle lightly up one side of her pussy, then the other, and all the tension went out of her legs.
That lasted about five seconds, because he only lasted about five seconds before he had to bury his face in her. Slipping his hands under her hips, he lifted her to his mouth and set to eating her out with the single goal of discovering her flavor. The way she wriggled and moaned and yelped were definitely side benefits, and when she reached down and pulled his hair, he ground his dick into the cool grass, seeking relief. But then he was back on task, pulling her flower-petal inner lips into his mouth to suck on. He gave her long, hard drags with his tongue and a few flicks now and then on the delicate skin between her pussy and her asshole. When she was getting hard to hold onto, he worked his way back up, up, up to her clit, so sneaky in its little hood. He pulled the skin back with a thumb and sucked her nub between his lips.
She came almost immediately, arching up into him, letting loose a high-pitched sound he decided on the spot he was going to hear again. For now, he let up on the pressure and moved his tongue to her pussy, pushing it as deep inside her as he could. Her muscles pulsed against him, and she made another noise for the list of those to achieve again, and then he eased her down to the towel. Leaving her legs to relax on his shoulders, he lapped at her with gentle strokes, coating his mouth and chin in her cum, which tasted salty and sweet, with a slight tang that reminded him of the tamarind candy the shops sold here. He was pretty sure he could live on what she was giving him, especially if it came with her thighs pressed to his ears. But eventually, her fingers found the top of his head and tugged at his hair. He kissed her thighs and crawled up to lie on his back, his good side toward her.