I swallowed. “Can I go down on you, then?”
Roz nodded, and I slowly made my way down her body, trailing kisses along her neck and collarbone, then her breasts and stomach, until I reached the seam of her shorts.
Heart pounding, I tugged at the fabric. Roz lifted her ass so I could slip them off.
I looked up, relishing the vision of Roz completely naked before me, taking in her firm breasts studded with small, hard nipples and the golden-brown curls of hair between her legs. Dropping my head, I returned to kissing the soft, warm skin of her lower abdomen.
Anxiety spiked in my chest as I slipped my fingers through her soft curls. What if I couldn’t make her come? But as my fingers reached a little nub that was most definitely her clit and then dipped into wet heat, and the scent of Roz’s arousal hit me, something instinctive kicked in. I lowered my head, swiping my tongue from her opening to her clit in one long, slow lick.Damn. Her taste sent another wave of desire crashing over me.
Roz let out a soft moan. Emboldened, I repeated the move a few times, and then focused on her clit, swirling my tongue over it, listening as Roz’s breathing grew more labored. I experimented with different pressures and movements, paying close attention to how she reacted to my touch. In an attempt to replicate the effect of my favorite vibrator, I placed my mouth over her clit, lips parted, and sucked gently while circling my tongue around the small hard nub in the middle.
“Oh, that’s good,” Roz moaned.
I flicked my eyes up just in time to see her hand grip the side of the chaise lounge. Goddamn, that was hot.
“Fingers,” Roz gasped out. “In me. Now.”
I slid two fingers inside her, groaning into her clit at the sensation of my fingers fully encased by her. My mouth and tongue continued to work her clit, falling into rhythm with the movement of my fingers.Shit. This was so hot.
Roz tilted her hips up, letting out small moans, and I glanced up at her again. She was biting her lip, her eyes dark pools, one hand holding onto the chaise lounge for dear life. In the dim light, I could see a faint flush on her cheeks and chest.
“Faster,” she groaned.
I picked up the pace, pushing my hand in and out with speed, curling my fingers slightly, just as Roz had done to me, all the while circling my tongue in time.
“Fuck!” Roz exclaimed, her body quaking as her muscles squeezed against my fingers in quick contractions.
I kept going as Roz writhed under me. It was hot, messy and sticky and so incredibly sexy. Roz Kennedy was falling apart at the mercy of my fingers.
“Enough!” Roz cried out, and I stopped, pulling my head up to look at her.
Her gaze was heavy, her red lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling. I had never seen anything more attractive in my life.
A wave of performance anxiety rippled through me. It seemed like Roz had enjoyed herself… but could she have been faking it for my benefit?
As if she sensed my concerns, Roz grinned. “Come here.”
I clambered up, straddling her hips, and leaned down so my face was only inches from hers. Roz lifted her head and gave me a deep, lingering kiss, slow and passionate.
“Was that okay?” I asked after we’d come up for air.
“That was far more than okay,” Roz said. “I don’t know where you learned how to do that thing with your mouth but it was… it was something else. Mind blowing.”
Warmth swept over me at Roz’s words
“Do you want to come upstairs?” I asked. “While I don’t think I’ll ever look at the chaise lounge in the same way again, it’s not so comfortable for snuggling.”
I snapped my mouth close. Snuggling? While I had the urge to wrap my arms around Roz’s warm body and nuzzle my head into her neck, Roz did not strike me as a snuggling person.
Not only that, but Roz had made it clear that first night at Pryde that she didn’t date. This was just a raincheck on the one-night stand we’d missed that night. And snuggling wasn’t part of a one-night stand, was it?
But Roz was already nodding. “That would be nice.”
We collected our clothes from the floor of the shop. Roz tugged on her shirt, not bothering to rebutton it, and I led her up the stairs at the back of the shop and into my apartment, my body trembling.
Roz’s eyes widened as I turned on the light switch, illuminating the open-plan living-dining room we’d just stepped into.
“Wow. This is very… floral.” Floral wallpaper lined the walls and framed prints of some of my favorite flowers—dahlias and ranunculus, in different shades of red, orange and yellow—hung from them. Flower cushions dotted the orange couch and green armchair.
