21. Brodie
Jesus,her boobs.
I could stare at them all fucking day.
Touch them all fucking day.
Suck on them all goddamn fucking day.
My brain is so addled I can’t come up with any actual adjectives, just explicatives.
I wrap my hands around her hips and stand, lifting her at the same time ’cause, yeah—I’m strong enough to do that. Sidestepping the couch, I walk several paces to the bed and dump her into the center.
Leaning forward, I pin her down with my hands.
“I can’t fucking take it anymore.”
Her chest heaves in and out as she looks up at me from my mattress.
“Good,” she says, hair fanning out around her, sexy as fuck.
I kneel on the bed, leaning down to kiss her. Neck. Shoulder blade. Collarbone. Down to the valley between her breasts, kissing there, too. Run a palm over her boobs, marveling at how they fit in my hand and how the tip of her nipple seems to scream for more attention.
Lizzy moans.
Plows her hand into my hair as I lick and suck, doing my best not to crush her beneath my weight.
Her kisses are like booze—the kind you drink and immediately get a buzz from. Punk drunk. Intoxicating.
A kiss that has me inebriated. Lost.
Has my dick so hard that it’s painful.
Lizzy moans again, a whining, pouting-like moan that has me pulling away from the kiss and glancing down at her face.
More.
I want more, her expression tells me.
Her brows rise, and she shimmies to the middle of the bed doing a crab crawl, wearing only that lacy bra—which leaves nothing to the imagination—her white shorts unbuttoned but not unzipped, but I’m about to alleviate her of those in the next two seconds.
One less thing in the way of the honey.
Taking off a woman’s clothing is surreal. The sound of her zipper whirring down is sweet—it’s the sound of a promise and the pleasure that’s about to come if you’re doing the job right.
What I lack in experience, I make up for in enthusiasm, and that’s saying a lot.
I drag her shorts down her hips and lean back to look at her body; her hips, her thighs, her cute knees. Her stomach and belly button. The large cherry birthmark staining her inner thigh.
I drag her back to the edge of the bed.
Get down on my knees, running my hands over her legs; they’re smooth and hairless, unlike mine. Compared to her, I’m a big, hairy ox. An oaf. A veritable ogre and I literally had a girl call me that to my face once when she was pissed at me for not going home with her during a party.
Lizzy is smaller than I am—but almost everyone is, including my buddies.
Lavender thong that matches the sweatshirt she had on.
I spread her legs, pushing them apart, hands on her knees, palms run up the inside of her thighs…letting the tip of my finger trace that cherry birthmark, round and round and round in slow, slow circles.
Lizzy’s chest moves up and down…up and down as she watches my every move with hooded eyes.
Lashes flutter when I drag the same finger tracing her birthmark north a few inches to run along the edge of her underwear.
Slowly.
Exploring.
I’ve only gone down on a girl once—one other time, and it was dark in the room, so I never had the opportunity to study the good bits.
I study Lizzy’s good bits now, pulling back the fabric of her underwear…dragging the silky, satiny material down over her hips. I discard the thong beside me before inching forward and
pulling her even closer still. Leaning down, I run my tongue over her pussy, using my thumbs to spread her apart.
“Oh my god…” she breathes.
It’s too soon to say she’s enjoying it, but I’d say we were off to a fucking good start…
I devour Lizzy.
Go at her pussy as if I were gunning for a prize or a medal or a trophy. Go at her pussy as if this were our last night on planet earth, and this was the one thing she’d have to remember us by.
Like it’s my fucking job.
I am going to make her come so hard she forgets both our names and what university we go to.
She moans so loud I glance up her body at her face.
Hands white-knuckle the bedspread, pulling.
“Oh god, Brodie. Oh god….”
More moans. “I want you inside me so bad, oh my god. F-fuck me, holy shit…please…”
Fuck me…please…
But I can’t.
Won’t.
I have my reasons for staying celibate—if oral sex is celibacy? Don’t know, haven’t looked it up, but I’ve been living like a goddamn monk for the past few years, blaming my hockey schedule and studies and the fact that I don’t want to get some girl pregnant and have my hand forced.
I’ve seen it dozens of times with my buddies.
Okay, so maybe not dozens, but enough times that it’d spook a dude into keeping his dick planted in his pants and not someone’s vagina.
I have another reason.
But we’re not talking about that at the moment.
Lizzy pushes at my shoulders, trying to worm away. “I want to come with you inside me.”
I shake my head.
No.
“Please, Brodie,” she begs. “Don’t make me beg.”
I smile, going at her harder, sucking her clit so good her head tips back, and she forgets about me fucking her. The loud moan coming from her throat would wake my roommates if they were home.
I smile into her pussy.
“Uhhhhhh…Oh god…”
“Right there…”
“Oh god, I’m gonna come…”
“Brodie, I’m going to come…”
As if I weren’t already aware that her pussy was pulsing, the finger I have inserted can feel it, too.
She’s so fucking wet.
Drenched.
Tight…