“Thanks. Glad it works for you.”
“Me, too.”
I slip my hands into the sides of my pants and drop them along with my panties to the ground. Placing my hands at my waist, I tilt my head with an expectant look upon my face.
“Still nice.” He purses his lips. “I’m surprised you don’t have any tattoos. I thought that was part of the artist uniform.”
“Who says I should be that much of a cliché? I’m naturally a masterpiece.”
“You never did get around to that dye job, did you?” he asks, focused on the space between my legs.
Playfully, I swat at his bicep. He catches my arm, bends at the knees, and throws me over his shoulder.
“This is extremely caveman of you, Fozzie.”
“Sex is a very basic human function, Evelyn.”
Draped over his body, I pat his ass as he walks us back to his bedroom. The shades are drawn shut, but the faint purple light from an early dusk peeks along the edges of the window.
Foster drops me onto the bed before dragging my backside to the edge of the mattress. Pulling my legs around him, he lowers himself to his knees. His mouth hungrily connects with my pussy—wet and flirtatious, licking and sucking. His dexterous tongue presses and circles around my clit, like a man on a mission.
“Still friends?” he asks between a lick and a suck.
“Yeah.” I bite my lip, trying to steady the electric sensations tapping their way through my system, as he plunges his tongue inside me. “I’ll make you one of those friendship bracelets, like we used to do at camp.”
“Perfect.” He draws his tongue through my folds. “I look forward to it.”
Foster continues to tease and taunt my sex with his mouth, bringing me an unexpected physical enjoyment, as we meander this gray area of friendship with no rules, other than the ones we’re making up each step of the way.
“Fuck me, you’re really fucking good at this,” I comment, running my fingers along his scalp. “You’re like some kind of clit whisperer. Do you practice this shit?”
“Yes. I exercise my mouth at the gym, the same way you do your breasts.”
I laugh and sit up, resting on my elbows. Our eyes connect, playful and giddy.
Foster kisses my inner thigh and then raises his brows with a silent question to which I easily agree, nodding my head. Rising from the floor, he steps toward his bureau and withdraws a condom.
Coming to my knees, I meet him at the foot of the bed and take the contraceptive into my hand.
“So, you’ll take it from here?” he asks.
My fingers lightly skim down his hard-on. “Is that a request?”
“Or merely a suggestion.”
Ducking down, I teasingly draw my tongue along the underside of his length, circling my lips around the bare tip, needing a taste.
Once.
And then twice more.
He moans.
My body responds.
Ripping the wrapper, I take out the condom and roll it over Foster’s erection.
Nudging me backward by the shoulder, he directs me down onto the bed. His hands follow the shape of my outer legs, from my hips to my ankles, grabbing and resting them on his shoulders.
