My body buzzes with arousal, a neediness inside of me burning so brightly and begging for me to act on it.
Sly’s hands roam my back as we kiss, and I become hyper aware when he moves them to my thighs.
A sound between a moan and a whimper pushes past my lips and onto his tongue as his hand slides under my dress.
The anticipation is killing me as he barely skims his fingers against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh; the tips brushing against the bend between my leg and panties.
Just knowing how close he is, waiting for his touch, feels almost as good as I imagine he’ll feel. With my eyes closed, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and tilt my head back. A small moan escapes and I fight against every instinct screaming at me to move against him.
“You look so gorgeous waiting for my touch,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Tell me, piccola ladra. Where do you want my fingers?”
“Everywhere,” I breathe, tilting my head back up to meet his gaze. Despite the butterflies swirling low in my stomach, confidently I say, “I want you to touch me everywhere.”
“Show me. Move my hands.”
Leaving the hand that’s under my dress, I grab his other hand, positioning mine over his as I grab the edges. Placing it against my hip, I slide it up my body slowly, gently guiding it over my stomach and up to the swell of my breast.
Engulfing my modest B-cup, his fingers flex. He moans appreciatively as he squeezes.
With my hand still on top of his, I move my other beneath my dress and rest it over his. He hasn’t moved it—his fingers still hovering right on the edge of my panties, and I can’t take it anymore.
The slightest of movement connects him with my soaked panties, and I suck in a sharp breath.
Pressing one of his fingers against my clit, another grazes against my entrance, pushing the fabric into me slightly.
“You’re soaked,” he verbalizes through a shaky breath, stating the obvious.
All I can do is nod. I’m completely frozen on top of him, my skin blazing.
Like a rubber band snapping from tension, his hand flies from my breast to the back of my neck and he draws me to him, slamming his lips against mine.
In the same movement, his hand pulls my panties aside so quickly I hear the seams ripping, but they’re lost on deaf ears as his thumb begins to stroke my slit, stopping only to circle my clit a few times before repeating the caresses.
“Oh my god,” I moan, shamelessly rolling my hips against him. “Please, Sly.”
“Please what?” he whispers against my lips. I can feel the upturn of his smirk.
As he circles my clit again, my orgasm starts to build.
“Please,” I mumble incoherently.
“Icraveyou, piccola ladra. Your smile. Your skin. Your moans. All I want is to have you in my arms, always.”
Pushing a finger into me, he immediately curls it upward and begins to stroke, then adds another. His ministrations are slow and steady—calculated, as though he knows exactly what my body wants and needs, building it up little by little.
I feel like I’m about to let go and fall over the edge, when he removes his fingers from me, and repositions my panties as they were.
My eyes snap open, and panic floods through me as I take in his stoic demeanor.
As I open my mouth to question what’s going on, his hands settle on my hips and he lightly pushes me off his lap, scooting to the edge of the couch as I stand and take a half step back.
“I know you were close, and I apologize. But the first time I make you come, I wish to see the pleasure written on your face. And from that position, it was difficult.”
“Oh…”
His smile calms me.
Sliding his hands up my thighs, they disappear under my dress, and his thumbs hook around the lace straps that rest at my hips. Tugging them, he pulls them down my legs and lets them fall to the floor once they’ve reached my knees.
