10. Orgasms and the Perfect Latte #3
I'm going to melt right off this chair. Until the last part of what my soon-to-be husband said penetrates my conscious mind and sends a wholly inappropriate atavistic shudder of appreciation through me.
"You cannot go around killing all the men I've dated." Not that there have been many.
I've only been out a handful of times in the six years since Troy's death.
Before my husband, I had one boyfriend. We were thirteen and we never made it past holding hands. Which was way too innocent according to my best friend, Ellie, who had already done oral with her boyfriend.
But she had her family's apartment to herself after school until her mom got home around five-thirty. Her dad was out of the picture before we met, and bonded for life over a mutual abhorrence of lunchroom mashed potatoes in third grade.
She works in computers and dates. A lot. But if she's had sex with the same man more than twice, I don't know about it. She says she gets all the nurturing opportunities she needs being Aunt Ellie to my girls.
"I won't," Kieran says, sounding almost reasonable. And then he ruins it by adding, "Only the ones who have touched you."
And that's a red flag on the play. The kind that leads to lost yards and benched players.
So, why is my core clenching with a no longer dormant need for s-e-x? The wall-banging, scream inducing kind. Not a few quick pumps until he comes and then some fingering that almost never lasts long enough to get me off.
Okay. Yeah. My sex life with Troy was not great.
But I'd been in love and Ellie told me it got better, the more we practiced. Which it did. Kind of. I got pregnant. My hormones went into overdrive. I climaxed at least fifty percent of the time we made love for nine months.
Only after Neeve was born, my body settled and I rarely climaxed. I'm not sure I've ever had a full-on orgasm like you read about in books.
For me it was more like a pleasant sneeze, not the kind that makes you pee in your underwear.
"Um if you mean sex, he's already dead." I never craved emotional closeness with the few men I dated.
And until now, even my inner hussy wasn't all that interested in the physical pleasure that was more disappointment than not.
I bet Kieran won't disappoint you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get the message. My ovaries are awake and they are determined to make up for years of unfulfilled sexual need.
"You didn't have sex with Dan?" Kieran asks, like I didn't just tell him I'd only ever had sex with Troy.
Obliquely sure. But it has to be obvious what I meant.
"No."
Suddenly, Kieran looks up from my phone, his gaze zeroing in on my ample chest.
Dropping my croissant, I cross my arms over my boobs. "My eyes are up here, buddy."
Kieran's look only intensifies. "Did he touch them."
"By them you mean—"
"Your gorgeous tits. Did he touch them?"
Wow, he must want an answer for Mr. Taciturn to bother repeating himself.
"How do you know they're gorgeous? I've breast fed three babies." They're not quite pendulums but not ripe melons with lush berries sticking out from their perfectly round centers either.
Troy had even suggested I have a breast lift done after I finished breastfeeding Joy.
He wasn't around for her birth, much less when I weaned her to the bottle.
Not all that interested in elective surgery for Troy's sake, I definitely wasn't having it when the only person who sees my boobs anymore is me.
"I want to see," Kieran says in a gravelly voice.
"You want to see my chest?" I squeak.
He's a practical stranger and that should not turn me on, right? The flush of heat that travels up my body says otherwise.
I want to lift my shirt and show him. But what if he doesn't think they're all that? What if he thinks I should perk them up with surgery?
What if the soft flesh under them that pads my body turns him off?
What if that kiss was an anomaly and the chemistry between us fizzles once he sees the body that bore three children and hasn't seen the inside of a gym since high school?
What if that hot expression in his dark eyes banks into a barely there fire?
Show him and find out, my inner hussy challenges.
Right here in the kitchen?
Right here. Right now.
"Show me." His growl sends lightning bolts of want straight to my core.
Oh lord. I'm going to do this, aren't I?
Common sense left the building when I started texting in all caps to Allison and it's not coming back anytime soon.
I am doing this.
My gaze fixed on his face, I reach down and grab the hem of my t-shirt. I can't believe I'm doing this.
I really can't. But the hem of my tee is sliding up my skin.
Kieran's eyes flare with heat and he licks his lips. Licks. His. Lips.
Like he can't wait to taste.
Are we doing that? I silently ask myself in panicked shock.
If we're lucky, my inner hussy purrs.
"More," he demands.
And without my brain's conscious say-so, I give him what he wants, lifting my shirt up and up until the hem is at my armpits and my full breasts with their already engorged nipples are on full display.
He moves so fast that I swear it's less than a second before he's up and out of his chair and kneeling on the kitchen floor beside me. He grips the chair under my thighs and lifts to silently rotate it so I'm no longer facing the table but him.
The expression on his face? There's no disappointment there. Only raw desire. "Tell me I can touch."
I nod but because his eyes are fixed firmly on my chest, he doesn't see it. "Y—" I clear my throat. "Yes."
And then – apparently because I want him to know just how touch starved my ladybits are – I grab his big hands and bring them up to cover my breasts. Just the press of his palms against my hard peaks sends lightning bolts of pleasure straight to my core.
"Well?" Is that sultry voice mine?
Am I seriously asking him if he thinks my boobs are pretty? Rhetorical question. I one-hundred percent am.
He started it, my inner hussy reminds me.
Shifting his hands to cup the side of my breasts, his thumbs brush over my excited nubs. "Gorgeous."
The lightning bolts of pleasure are turning into a category five hurricane complete with the howling wind of need blowing through me.
He squeezes my globes, testing their weight in his hands. "So fucking beautiful."
Those hands are so big. His hard, calloused thumbs brush all the way from the underswells of my voluptuous breasts up over my nipples and the top swells without rotating his wrists.
I never thought I was into big men, but everything about Kieran and his fantasy warrior sized body does it for me.
His thumbs make another circuit over my breasts, this time swirling around my aching nips midsweep. "So fucking soft."
I moan softly as his husky voice caresses my nerve endings, pleasure pulsing in its wake.
Leaning forward, Kieran presses his forehead to mine, creating a bubble around us where I don't see anything but his hands on my chest and the dark raspberry nipples his thumbs are making circles around.
I don't smell anything but his spicy musk and the scent of my own arousal.
I don't hear anything but my panting breaths and his.
Nothing exists in this moment but him, me and unexpected pleasure fueled need.
"They're so pillowy. Perfect in my hands." He squeezes my breasts over and over, playing with them like no one ever has. "I could do this for hours."
"We don't have hours." I wish we did though. Every nerve center in my body is sparking with pleasure.
Troy liked looking, because it turned him on I guess, but he wasn't big on the touching.
What Kieran's doing right now? It's amazing.
"Gorgeous," Kieran says again. "So damn perfect." He exhales, his hot breath washing over my sensitive mounds. "You're softer than silk and it turns me the fuck on that you let me touch you with my rough hands."
"Your hands feel good," I breathe.
"I'm glad. Fuck, baby girl, I've traveled all over the world and seen priceless works of art, but nothing half this beautiful."
Baby girl? I think I just had a heart orgasm.
"That's a lot of words," I tease to cover how that particular endearment coming from this man makes me melt.
"Yeah?" he asks. "Good ones?"
"Very." Delicious words that are turning me on as much as his touches.
He makes a hum of approval and then his thumbs and forefingers come together to pinch my rosy points before he rolls them between the calloused digits. "Mine."
And that single word hits harder than all the others he's spoken.
"Kieran," I whisper because I can't say anything else.
Then he lowers his head further and lifting my right breast, he takes the nipple into his hot mouth while he continues to play with the other one between his thumb and forefinger.
Gasping, I arch toward him.
Giving a low growl of approval, he doesn't just suck. He laves. He nibbles. He rolls it between his lips. And then he sucks, pulling my entire aureole into his mouth and unfamiliar delight bombards my senses.
I have to mash my fist to my mouth and bite to stop the scream that wants to rip from my throat.
The thought of my mom and daughters only a couple rooms away does nothing to dampen the cataclysm of need surging through me. Of their own volition, my legs spread wide, my pelvis rocks and my bottom slides forward as my most intimate flesh seeks some kind of relief.
An approving growl vibrates around my nipple and one of Kieran's hands drops down, sliding into the elastic waistband of my pajama pants. His oh so talented thumb dips straight to my center and draws my wetness up to my clit.
Once. Twice. Three times before my inner lips and clitoris are slippery with my juices.
He rubs against my pleasure nub, softly at first, interspersed with gentle circles around it. But the faster my hips rock, the stronger his touch becomes until he's demanding my pleasure with a steady, almost rough direct stimulation to my clit.
Dazzling pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside me until I'm on the edge of my chair, rocking and riding his thumb.
It's too much. It's not enough. I'm going to explode right out of my skin.