Chapter Nineteen
Marty
“Shit,” she says in a whisper.
“Thirty-seven, hey?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, that's hot,” I mumble to myself. And it is.
“Really?” Her voice has far too much doubt in it.
“Lift up a second,” I say and as she does, I roll over underneath her.
Then she sits back down, still not looking at me, her body still curved forwards, her pussy landing perfectly on my groin and my dick starts to harden against her warm flesh and soft curls.
I sit up and put one hand behind me so I can hold my weight.
The other I place on her neck, clearing her hair out of the way.
“I know it's old, Marty,” she says, unmoving apart from her hands gripping my shins in a way that I find so sexy for reasons I can't put into words.
“It's older than twenty-four.” I lean forward to kiss her neck.
“Too old?” she asks, and it could be my imagination, but she wriggles as if to place my hardening cock exactly where she wants it.
“Am I too young for you?” I push up more so my chest is flush with her back. I bring my hands to where her robe is tied at her chest.
“Probably,” she mutters, and I wait for a laugh, but it doesn't come.
Instead, I hear her gasp as one of my hands slips inside the soft towelling material and finds her nipple.
Her breasts are that delectable mix of firm and soft, modest but still enough for a handful, and they're warm and smooth under my touch.
My other hand starts to slowly pull down the side of her robe and she shudders as her skin is exposed to the air-conditioned room.
I take my other hand off her body so I can pull the robe down around her waist. Then I put my fingers back on her as my eyes take her in.
The lack of bikini straplines tells me she's been doing some topless sunbathing, and this has me growing harder by the second.
As does the way her bronzed skin is decorated in a pretty pattern of freckles and moles, the way her frame narrows at her waist, and how there are dimples in her back, and they wink at me as I sit there just looking at her.
“You’re beautiful,” I say as I stroke her back.
“I daren't turn around,” she says, and she does indeed sound scared.
“Why?” I ask, my fingertips applying more pressure.
“I am pretty sure my make-up is all over my face and my hair needs a good brush, and...” She sighs. “I haven't been completely naked with a man in a long time. Especially one who is thirteen years younger than me.”
I have questions but I know it's not the time. I also hope I can reassure her of my desire for her with my hands and mouth more than I could with my words.
“Turn around,” I say, lying down flat on my back again. “I want to see you.”
She lifts her hands and smooths down parts of her hair, wipes under her eyes quickly, and this only accentuates the curves and muscles in her back.
When Jenna doesn't move, I wonder if she's going to protest or insist she turns the lights off, which I will absolutely fight her on, but a moment later she begins to move, first taking off the robe, and discarding it.
This gives me the most perfect view of her arse, and then, for a collection of heady seconds, she leans forward and I can feel my dick slide in between her lips there.
But then she pushes up and pivots, putting her hands on the bed, and turning around so she is facing me.
I almost want to stop Jenna there and keep her in that position - on her hands and knees - but I don't and instead I offer up a small prayer that maybe I’ll get a chance to see her like that another time before this holiday is over.
As she shifts her weight so she can throw her other leg over my body, I feel the urge to inhale as deeply as I can, to drag out this moment for as long as possible, because fuck, she looks magnificent.
Tousled and fucked and glowing and fucked and vibrant and fucked, fucked, fucked.
Her cheeks are pink, her eyes are bright, and her lips are pressed together, plump and inviting.
And that's just her face. When I glance down and see those breasts I want to lavish attention on, nipples already pebbled, I think about sitting up to suck one into my mouth, but I don't because there is more for my eyes to feast on, and they do.
I see the curve and rolls of her stomach, the small smile of her belly button and long silver stripes of stretchmarks on her hips, lines that I move to stroke, delighting in their smoothness and silky texture.
My eyes follow my fingers as I trace the shape of where her bikini has been, a shape I suddenly, desperately, want to discover with my mouth again.
“Sit on me,” I grunt out as I grab hold of her backside, nudging it towards my face hard enough to jolt her forward. “Sit on my face.”
“Marty!” She laughs, so unnecessarily and prettily embarrassed.
“Please,” I say, and my grip and nudge are firmer still.
When she still doesn’t move of her own accord, I bring my hand up and wrap it around her jaw and chin.
“Earlier, you asked me what I like,” I say. “Well, that's what I like.”
“You don't have to.” She won't look me in the eye.
“Look at me, Jenna,” I say, applying a bit more pressure with my fingertips.
She finally locks eyes with me. “If you remember one thing about me, make it this. My job is all about flavours, textures and taste, but I have never, ever wanted to eat something as much as I want to eat you right now. Please let me taste you.”
With her deep exhale, it's like all the fight leaves her body and she smiles at me in that way she did when she was watching me in the shower; a mischievous look drenched in longing and curiosity and just the right amount of apprehension.
I give her bum another squeeze and finally, she starts travelling up my body.
I tuck my arms and shoulders under her when she's close enough and then my hands are back on her butt, pulling her down and on top of me, which she does only to then lift up again.
“Sit,” I say.
“I am,” she replies.
“No, you're hovering.” I pull down again.
“I'll suffocate you.”
“It'll be a grand way to go,” I say, with another pull.
“Marty, seriously,” she says with more nervous giggles.
“I am very serious right now. I’m so fucking hungry for this. Feed me. Give me what I want.” I yank her so hard she sinks down.
And I get to work.
I start slow, exploring, mapping her out, inside and out.
I kiss, I lick, I suck, and I use my tongue, making it firm, making it soft.
When she moans, I stay where I am, circling her clit until she starts to rock against me, then I stop and move down to push my tongue inside her and curl it as much as I can.
Her taste is intoxicating – salty like the ocean, musky like the air on a hot summer’s day – and I eat it all up.
I want to go further, lower, deeper – eat all of her up - but I daren’t when she just showed me how even this is not something she is used to.
When I go back to licking up and down either side of her clit, she makes the sweetest strangled noise and I look up.
Her eyes are closed, one of her hands is playing with her right nipple and she’s biting that full bottom lip.
“Keep doing that,” she mumbles. “It feels amazing.”
I do as I’m told, closing my eyes again and digging my fingers into her backside harder, pinning her exactly where she is. My mouth is impossibly wet now, the air hot and full, but I don’t want to move. Her hands come down to find my hair and they grip my scalp as she grinds down into me.
“I'm going to come,” she says, breathless, pupils blown dark and wide.
She thrusts her hips hard against me and if my hands weren't happy on her backside I would lift them up and applaud her on, but there's no way I'm going to stop squeezing all her solid warm flesh while she comes on my mouth, which happens only seconds later as she rides out her orgasm and I get to taste more of her.
“Fuck,” she gasps and what is probably my favourite word in the world has never sounded better. “Fuck.”
When she pulls up to float above me, I let her. She looks down at me over the tanned mounds of her breasts and stomach, and she smiles. Then she reaches down and wipes my mouth, nose and chin with her hand.
“Still alive?” she asks.
“Absolutely. Not even close to being suffocated, sadly,” I say and then I almost come myself when I see her put that hand of hers to her mouth and she licks herself off her fingers.
“I taste good on you,” she says pushing back to lie flat on top of me.
A beat later she's kissing my mouth and face, hunting for more traces of herself.
I ready myself to pin her body against mine, roll her over and God willing, enter her again, but then she pushes off me and the absence of her smooth sun-kissed skin feels all kinds of wrong.
“Where are you going?” I say, the panic audible.
“My turn to be responsible,” she says, walking to the bathroom, and I get to watch her butt sway as she does, delighting at the sight of red marks where my finger dug into her skin.
While she's gone, my hand grips my length and strokes it, but I stop when I see her coming back into the room.
She's completely naked and all curves and all woman and all things I want to touch and hold and feel.
But the sexiest thing about Jenna right now is that she's not covering herself up or showing any nerves.
She's walking with her head high, her shoulders back, and a condom in her hand that she's carefully opening.