I watch the reflection, rapt, as he eases his hand inside the cotton, over my mons pubis, and then a shrill whimper escapes my gritted teeth as his long middle finger rests over my seam.
"I—" another whimper emerges from my throat, a high, tight, wordless noise of need. "I want to…"
"What, Sophia? You want to what?"
"See." I push my jeans down until they catch at my hips. "I want to see. I want to watch you touch me."
"What do you know?" He teases in English. "So do I."
He drops to a crouch behind me, fingers hooking in the waist of my open jeans, and pulls them down; I help by wiggling my hips, shifting my weight from foot to foot as he tugs the tight denim down until they're piled around my ankles. He lifts my foot and whips the jeans away, and then I lift my other foot and they're tossed aside, leaving me in my panties and T-shirt.
Remaining crouched behind me, Ren grasps my hips, nosing one side of my bottom over the cotton, and then the other. He curls one finger into the elastic and tugs my underwear down an inch or two at my right hip, and kisses the exposed upper swell of my buttock.
"Ren, please—my god, I—I need—I want you to—"
He rumbles a quiet, amused laugh. "Did you think I wouldn't take my sweet damned time with you, Sophia?" he asks. "You'll be a quivering puddle by the time I'm done with you, I promise. It just won't be quick getting you there."
He runs that finger inside the elastic from right hip to left, lowering my underwear a bit more, another inch or two, baring more of my bottom, and he kisses flesh as he exposes it.
Left to right now, kissing, kissing—the upper swell, the hint of the cleft. Right to left, more kisses dotting and peppering here and there, here and there.
And now, all at once, the tight white cotton briefs droop past the bubble of my backside, clinging and catching where my thighs press together. I shift my thighs, and the panties drop to the floor. Ren tosses them aside. Rises to his feet behind me.
His fingernails scratch up my sides, bringing my T-shirt up with it; I'm momentarily blinded as he tears the garment off and tosses it aside to join the growing pile of my clothing. NowI'm clad in only a simple, tight, compressive white sports bra, unattractive, unsexy, and a real bitch to peel out of.
"Would you ever consider wearing lingerie for me, Sophia?" he asks, his palms roaming my belly, my hips, down my thighs, teasing near my core but never quite touching me where I want him to.
"I don't own any fancy underwear, Lorenzo," I answer.
"I have a fantasy," he whispers, trailing his fingertips along the thick band of elastic at my diaphragm.
"Tell me," I whisper back.
"You, in nothing but a few scraps of red lace." He tugs the band upward until the lower swell of my breasts spills out, slowly rolling the tight undergarment up and away. "Like the most perfect present, all wrapped up for me."
"I think…" I breathe, pausing to swallow the lump of hot nerves in my throat, feeling my belly flutter with the wingbeats of a billion restless butterflies. "I think that could be arranged." I gnaw on the corner of my lower lip, breath lodged in my throat as Ren peels the sports bra up and up, past the sticking point so my breasts tumble free, swaying heavily. The bra joins the rest of my clothes on the floor, and now I'm nude while Ren towers behind me, fully clothed.
"My fucking god," he breathes, his gaze hungrily raking over my curves, lingering at my breasts before dropping to my sex. "You are exquisite, Sophia. Breathtaking."
My heart squeezes, melts, and I hold my breath and meet his eyes in the reflection. "Ren…god. The things you say to me."
Reaching around me, pinning my arms to my sides, he cups my breasts in his big hands, calluses scraping rough against the tender skin. Thumbs brushing over my erect, sensitive nipples, Ren watches me in the mirror, watches me gasp and press my thighs together at his touch, watches my jaw drop open as Iwhimper when he tweaks my nipples with a sharp, pinching twist.
Needing to touch him, to feel the reality of him, the solidity of his skin and muscles, I reach up and frame his face, rake my fingers through his beard, lip caught in my teeth. I arch my back, push my breasts into his hands.
He kneads the tender weight of my tits, growling a sound of appreciation.
"Have I ever told you that your tits are fucking incredible?" he murmurs.
I shake my head. "No, I don't think you have."
He lets them go, and they bounce, sway, jiggle. "Look at them, Soph. Goddamned magnificent."
"They're just boobs," I protest. "Nothing special."
He shakes his head. "To me, they are perfection." He scoops them up again, scraping a fingernail over my nipples until a thin, shuddering gasp slithers out of me. "So sensitive. I love the little sounds you make."
One hand still toying with my breasts, his other drifts down my belly to cup my sex. His middle finger rests over my seam, and I whimper, mouth hanging open in anticipation of the touch I desire. I press my thighs together, and then force them relax, to soften, to allow him access to my soft, wet center.
