Chapter 7 #2
She laughs. "Of course! You were respectful about it, though, so I pretended not to notice. You weren't creepy or weird about it. Just obvious."
"So here's the admission. I couldn't fall asleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. That fucking bikini.
Your ass swaying every step you took. Those big fucking tits of yours bouncing around as we played frisbee.
" I close my eyes, rest my forehead on hers, summon the courage to put it all out there.
"I was hard as a rock. It hurt. It wouldn't go away.
I couldn't stop thinking about you. I kept…
shit. I kept having this fantasy of you and me alone on the beach under the stars, and you'd reach back and untie the bikini top and wiggle out of the bottoms in this whole slinky, sensual movement.
I'd never seen a totally naked woman at that point, so all I had was imagination, but that's all I needed.
I fought it so fucking hard, but I…I couldn't help myself. "
I feel her start to follow the plot. "Oh. Killy, you mean…” she snickers, splutters, and then dissolves into laughter. "Are you saying…?"
"You said you wouldn't laugh."
"I said I wouldn't make fun of you, and I'm not." The laughter fades and she cups my jaw in both hands. "I swear to you on the twenty years I've known you, I'm not teasing or making fun or laughing at you."
"I snuck out of my room, went down to the beach, waded out until the water was just below my groin, and I closed my eyes, and I pictured you in that bikini, walking toward me, reaching back to untie it, and I jerked off for the first time."
There's a fraught silence. "Killy, no. You're saying…"
"You were my sexual awakening, the reason for my first orgasm."
She lets out a soft breath that's not quite a whimper. "Holy shit, Killian."
"And every time I've ever jerked off since, it's you I picture. Even when I try to think of something else or someone, I can't. It's always you. It's always been you."
She's silent for a long, tense moment. "All this time?"
I nod. "Always. When I say you've tortured me, I mean it. It's been fucking torture. Watching you turn into this fucking stunning woman, so smart, so successful, so fucking gorgeous…but not mine. Not for me. You're all I've ever wanted."
Story nuzzles my lips with hers. "And now look. I am for you, now."
“It’s hard to believe. Hard to…to let myself believe it. I've loved you from afar for so fucking long. I don't know how to let myself internalize that this is real."
Story leans back and peels her scrub top off, revealing a taut, toned stomach and a tight black Nike sports bra. And even with the tight compression of that garment, her rack is fucking spectacular.
"Does it seem more real, now?" she whispers.
"Starting to," I answer, palming her belly.
"Keep going."
"What about—"
"Listen," she whispers.
I tilt my head, listening, and I hear it—a loud, snorting snore. A low sucking breath, and then another snort and a long snore.
"As long as we can hear him snoring, we're good." She leans into me, pressing her chest against mine, lifts up, nips the tip of my chin, and then her fingers trail over my abs, dance down to trace the waist of my jeans.
My stomach curls in on itself at her touch, and I exhale shakily. "Shit, Story."
"You want to hear my confession?" she breathes, fingers toying with the button of my fly.
"Yes."
"I've touched myself thinking about you, Killian. Ever since the summer you turned eighteen."
"You'd been gone a long time."
“Yeah. Med school. Kind of demanding, y'know?"
"So I've heard."
"You grew up while I was gone. Last time I saw you before that summer, you were still this gangly not-quite kid.
And then suddenly you were tall and buff and hot, and I couldn't stop staring at you and thinking about you.
It was so weird at first, how intense the attraction was.
" She fiddles with the button some more, and then kisses my chin just below my lower lip, and then claims my mouth and licks her tongue along the seam of my mouth.
"Your story is a lot like mine. I tried not to, but I couldn't help it.
I made it three days. But in those three days, I doubt I slept more than a few hours at a time, because I kept having wet dreams about you. "
“Are you for real?" I ask.
"God yes. I'd wake up sweating and horny and seconds from exploding, and when I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, all I saw was you.
And unlike you, I did have experience, so I knew exactly what to picture.
" She tugs open the button, drags the zipper down millimeter by millimeter with a slow zzzhhrrrripping sound.
"And picture I did. In detail. I couldn’t help it.
I'd lay in that bed, and I'd think about you.
About this…" her fingertip trails over the bulge of my cock filling the open V of my fly, and I hiss, twitching at her touch. "And I'd touch myself."
"Jesus, Story."
"Did you jerk off to me that summer?" she asks.
"Only every goddamn day," I admit.
"So you realize we were both coming to thoughts of each other at the same time?"
“Kinda weird to think about."
"It is, isn’t it?"
For a moment, neither of us speaks, nor do we move, our eyes locked. Seeking. Searching. Searing. Needing.
A snore fills the silence, and instead of being funny or annoying, it's reassuring. It means we're still effectively alone.
Story's eyes flick and flit, the bluest of blue, heated with desire, soft with affection. "Killy, I want you so fucking bad. I’ve wanted you for years."
"You don't even know what you're talking about, Story. I've been out of my fucking mind about you since I was twelve."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
"Fuck if I know," I mutter.
I kiss her, soft and slow at first and then with increasing intensity, until we're both gasping and groaning as our mouths clash and crush and slip and tilt and taste.
My hands claw into her sides, soft skin warm and smooth.
But I need more, and her invitation couldn't be any more clear, so I finally give myself permission to take what I want, to give her what we both want.
I push my hands up her flat, firm belly and hesitate in the lee of the undersides of her breasts.
Her tongue stabs into my mouth, and she shoves her hands around down into the back of my open jeans, cupping my bare ass.
Her touch makes my cock jerk, and my jeans sag, droop, and then slump around my ankles.
The hunger in her kiss is my undoing, the end of my self-control. I strip her sports bra upward, and she stretches her arms up overhead, and I peel it off, toss it at our feet while stepping awkwardly and self-consciously out of my jeans.
She steps back, arms barred over her chest, hugging herself with a sly, sultry smile. "Say please, Killy."
"Please, Story."
"Please what?"
"Let me see you. Drop your arms."
Another brief hesitation, and then she lowers her arms to her sides. And just like that, her breasts are bare for me.
"Dear fucking lord," I whisper. "You're so goddamned perfect."
She really is.
My erection reaches critical mass, pulsing with a hot, unbearable ache.
For a few moments, I just stare at her, drink in her beauty.
But then my hands remember their greed and I reach for her.
She shifts within reach, her blueblueblue eyes unwavering and bold on mine, and her breath puffs out of her in a soft sigh as my hands close around her waist. I drift my hands upward, and her breath catches, as does mine, and now neither of us are breathing and I can't even swallow past the hot breath lodged in my throat—this is happening.
She's not just allowing this, but wants it. Needs it as much as I do.
Her breasts are big and round and high on her chest, hanging slightly heavier at the bottom with her plump, pink nipples tilted upward.
As she sucks in a shuddering breath at the slow upward slide of my hands, her breasts shiver and shake ever so slightly, trembling with each subtle movement and shift.
I watch her nipples peak and harden and tighten into thick prominence as I, again struggling to get oxygen into my lungs, scoop the heavy weight of her breasts into my hands.
And now my cock pounds and pulses as I’ve never felt in my life, even when I used to wake up in the middle of the night out of a wet dream, seconds from making a mess of myself, with images of Story dancing and fading in my mind.
And now she's here, real and in front of me, and the breasts I've fantasized about for so long are mine to touch, to see.
"Ohhh, Killy," Story whispers. "The way you touch me…"
"You're even sexier than I imagined," I murmur, rolling my thumb over her nipple. "These tits. So incredible. More than I could have fantasized. And trust me, I've fucking fantasized."
She doesn't answer, her eyes shuttering with a flutter as I gently swipe my thumbs over her nipples again, and then I lift her tits and let them fall just to watch the way they move.
She whimpers, and again my cock pulses—this time, so hard I feel a frisson of worry that I'm about to bust a nut in my pants like the thirteen-year-old I was when I first discovered the wonder of the female figure, specifically Story's.
I clench down on the ache in my cock, forcing myself back from the edge, groaning at the effort.
"What's wrong, Killy?" Story asks.
"I…fuck." My cheeks are hot, my stomach flipping. "Barely touched you and I'm…I'm on the fucking edge like a goddamn child.”
Her eyes widen to saucers, and then a sensual smile spreads slowly across her face. "Is that so?" The look on her face is downright predatory, and the flipping of my stomach and the aching of my cock are nearly debilitating.
Another reassuring snort-snore-sigh echoes through the flat.