She set her coffee aside, and I did the same with mine. “What point?”
I moved slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to slap me silly. I traced a fingertip across her belly, over the narrow strip of tanned skin left exposed between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of the sweatpants, a deliberate echo of the way I’d touched her last night/this morning. She sucked in a breath, watching my hand with hawkish intensity. I sat on the edge of the bed again, this time pressed up against her legs. I slid both middle fingers along that strip of bared flesh. Teasing, teasing. Keeping her gaze locked on mine. Dragged the hem of her shirt up her torso, baring her navel, and then her diaphragm, halting when I started to see underboob.
She bit her lower lip between her teeth, blowing out the breath she’d sucked in moments ago. “Wha—what are you doing?”
“Not sure,” I admitted. “What does it seem like I’m doing?”
“Taking my shirt off.”
Still using only middle fingers, I traced around the undersides of her breasts and then grazed the outsides on my way up; it was my turn to catch my breath, now, as her tits were both exposed. My cock, already hard as a steel beam, started throbbing painfully, my balls pulsating, a groan escaping my lips involuntarily at the sight of the most perfect pair of breasts God ever put on a woman.
“Is that what I’m doing?” I asked, nudging the Seahawks shirt a little higher yet.
“Yeah, I am fairly certain that’s what you’re doing.”
I finally took hold of the hem, preparing to lift it off entirely. “Don’t hear you telling me to stop,” I murmured, “so I’m gonna keep going.”
I met her gaze, giving her yet another opportunity to put an end to this; she remained silent. Better yet, she unfroze, just a little bit. Her hands, clutched into her thighs through the covers, released their death grip, and she lifted her hands over her head.
I searched her eyes, her face, looking for hints of…I wasn’t sure. Panic? Fear? Excitement? Anticipation? I found the last three, at least. And maybe it was more nerves than fear.
I pulled the thin raglan T-shirt off her head and set it aside, letting myself fully soak up the incredible beauty of a topless Evangeline. “Goddamn, Eva.”
“What?” she whispered.
“You.” I reached out, and I wasn’t at all embarrassed to note that my hands were trembling, just a little bit, a fact which I think she noticed. “You are…baby, you’reperfect. Literally, the most perfect woman I’ve ever seen.”
I cupped her left breast in my right hand, letting my thumb brush over her erect nipple; she gasped sharply, and her pupils dilated.
She shook her head. “I’m not.”
I tipped my head to one side. “We can agree to disagree on that. I think you are.” I transferred my touch to the right side, softly caressing the fullness of the heavy globe. “Why are you letting me do this, Eva?”
“I’m telling myself this is all still a dream.” She was breathless, watching my hand touching her as I explored the curves and weight and softness of her breasts. “Because otherwise I’d never have the courage to really do this, to let you—to letanyone—touch me like this. At all. Much less someone I don’t know. Because I—Iwantthis. It feels wrong, but it also feels right, and I want it, and no one in my life would approve of any of this which is why I’m doing it, partially.”
“Tell yourself whatever you want, sweetheart, as long as you know I’m real, and that I’m in literal awe of you, and that the second you stop wanting any of this, all you gotta do is say so. Until you tell me to go fuck myself, I’m gonna keep pushing your boundaries, and I’ll be considering myself the luckiest bastard on the planet in the meantime.”
“I would never tell you…that.”
“What if I tried something that was a hard limit?”
“Hard limit?” She crinkled her nose in adorable confusion.
How could anyone be hot as fuck, sexy as hell, beautiful and elegant and classy, and yet cute and adorable all at the same time? Didn’t seem possible, yet Evangeline kept proving it was, in her case.
“Like, not just a ‘no, I don’t like that, Bax’ kind of way, but in a ‘hellno, quit that before I break your nose’ kind of way.”
“Oh.” Her eyelids fluttered closed as I grasped her by the waist and pulled her down into a laying position, leaned over her, and kept caressing her breasts, with both hands now, tweaking her nipples now and again, hefting their glorious weight, cupping their softness. “I, um. Well, for one, I wouldn’t know how to break your nose even if I wanted to, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine what you could possibly do to incite such a—oh,ohhhhh!—such a violent reaction from me.”
Theoh—ohhhwas a reaction to pinching her nipples between fingers and thumbs and twisting sharply, testing her reaction to a little bit of a sting.
I took her hand in mine, tilted it back so her palm was face out in palm-strike position. “Watch.” I brought the heel of her palm up to my septum in a gentle approximation of a strike. “Like that, as hard as you can, hitting kinda upward and inward at the same time. Like you’re trying to push my nose backward into my skull.” I redirected her palm into a side-on strike. “Or like this, trying to smash it right off my ugly face. Use your hand like this, though, open, like a slap. If you’ve never been taught to throw a punch, you’re more likely to hurt yourself trying to hit me with a closed fist. Open-hand, like this, you can’t really hurt yourself, as long as you keep your wrist braced back all the way.”
“Won’t it kill you? Like, drive the bone into your brain?”
I couldn’t help an outright laugh. “Babe, that’s Hollywood horseshit. It’s so hard to do it’s almost impossible. Takes a shitload of skill and practice to perfect. Most you’ll accomplish is breaking my nose. Most guys, that’ll stop ’em in their tracks. Gettin’ your nose broke ain’t no picnic.”
“Would it stop you?”
