26. 26
26
Tilly
I ’ve never felt anything as good as Dexter’s mouth.
It’s not only when he’s between my legs, teasing and touching and making me forget my own name.
That is incredible all on its own.
But this—after I… after I fall apart, for the first time, according to Dexter—he starts at the end of the bed, exploring my feet with his fingers. He presses his thumbs into the ball of my foot, tickling my toes.
I jerk away, ticklish, and Dexter laughs. He catches my baby toe between his lips for a moment, and bites down gently. “I’ve never really been into feet.”
“I think that’s a good thing.”
“A buddy of mine was,” he tells me, cupping my heel and kneading the ball of my other foot. “He said he really got off on them, but I never understood. I mean, your feet are cute and all. I guess if you used these cute feet to rub my dick, then maybe I’d get off.” He kisses the tip of my big toe.
“Is that what you’d like?” I want to make him happy. I want to excite him.
I’m just not sure how to go about doing that.
“I’d like you to just lie there so I can look at you.” He kisses my ankle, his lips moving up as his fingers caress my calves. “I like the way you look at me.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you want me.”
I do.
I’m practically swooning by the time he reaches my knee.
“Do you remember when I asked if you’d ever been kissed at the back of your knee?” Dexter straightens my leg, stretching it up so he can press his mouth against the soft spot.
“Yes,” I gasp. I remember everything he said that night.
“I think you’ll like this.” He trails hungry open-mouthed kisses along the crease, finishing with a flick of his tongue in the corner. Every touch of his mouth has a mirror reaction in my core, a pleasurable clench that makes me catch my breath.
Dexter’s eyes are dark as he smiles. “You’re very flexible,” he says admiringly.
“I do yoga.” I can barely get the words out.
“I’d like so find out just how flexible you can be.” His voice is low and suggestive.
I’ve never thought it was possible to have a man take so much time with me. Dexter strokes and caresses, kisses often, licks occasionally, all the way up my body.
He pauses for a few moments between my legs again to tease before moving up to my stomach, the one area I’d like him to skip.
But he covers everything, giving every spot equal attention and turning me liquid with need and want, like softened candle wax, pliable and loose-limbed. By the time he reaches my mouth, kissing me so thoroughly that I forget that I’ve ever been kissed before, I’m moaning with need.
“Come inside me,” I beg, not for the first time.
When Dexter slides inside me, something clicks and I feel this is right . He rocks against me, our bodies moving together slowly, in perfect rhythm.
“This is good,” he says breathlessly, balancing on his arms to look down at me.
“So good.” I hitch a leg around his hip, urging him deeper.
“I don’t want to ever stop,” he confesses. “I want to be fucking you forever.”
“Eventually you’ll have to stop.” I smile and he kisses it, swallowing my moan as he thrusts deeper.
This is making love, but like no love I’ve ever made. Slow and languorous; Dexter says things, but they’re not the dirty talk of the first time. I laugh often, something I’ve never done while having sex.
My climax is slow to build, but I take Dexter with me and by the time I’m cresting, his thrusts are deep and frantic. As I cry out with release, Dexter meets me with a shout and stills, coming deep inside me.
“Holy shit,” he breathes.
My body is trembling, but this time I’m not embarrassed, especially when he kisses me so sweetly. “You are… glorious,” he announces, still lying atop me, his arms supporting his weight.
I slide my hands along his arms, enjoying the feel of his muscles. “For that, I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“I might need some sustenance before we do that again.”
“Again?” I cry, and Dexter laughs and kisses me again.
I’ve never felt so light and free after sex before. So happy and relaxed and… happy.
I’m so happy.
I’m not used to it.
Dexter hands me his shirt to wear and I pull my hair into a messy bun. I’ve always wanted to be one of those women who wears the shirt of the man they just had sex with.
And now I am.
But I had no idea I wanted to be one of those couples who make food after sex.
Dexter pulls on his jeans but leaves his boxer briefs on the floor where they flew after I pulled them off. I take his shirt, which leaves him shirtless. I appreciate that.
If I hadn’t just had sex with him, I would definitely want to just from the sight of his chest. And his abs. And back.
Good lord, don’t get me started on his ass, either. “Do you work out or something?” I ask, trying to be casual but sounding like I’m fangirling worse than my daughters. I pull a block of cheese and the bread out of the fridge.
“Not really.” Without a word, Dexter starts pulling open drawers to find the knives. He also finds the cutting board without asking.
I like seeing him move around the kitchen like he’s been here before.
“So you just look like that naturally?”
He gives me a rueful grin. “I play basketball at least once a week, plus I’m in a soccer league. Nick’s a baseball player, so there’s an unspoken competition that me and Max—both not professional athletes—will try to look as good as we can. It’s never as good as Nick.” He looks down at himself. “But it’s not bad.”
“Not bad,” I echo.
“Mainly, I look like this because I’m lucky to have a fast metabolism, plus I forget to eat a lot,” Dexter continues.
This creates worry in the mother in me. “How can you forget to eat? That’s not a good thing, regardless of that it gives you nice lines on your stomach.”
He pats his abs with a grin. “You like my stomach, do you?”
“What are you doing that you forget to eat?” I ask instead of rising to his unspoken invitation to touch his stomach. At least I think it was an invitation. And as much as I would love to touch Dexter, it’s clear that will lead to something, and after what he said, I need to feed him.
Although he’s doing more of the work. “I lose track of time,” he admits as he carefully cuts slices from the block of cheddar. “Reading, obviously, since I’m an English prof. I watch a lot of movies. But the main thing is because I’m playing video games.”
“You’re a gamer. I’ve always pictured English professors as slightly stuck up and wearing a lot of tweed.”
“I have no tweed. Or jackets with patches on the elbow.”
“I think you’d look good in tweed.” When he puts the knife down, I give in to the urge to run my hand along his stomach. “And out of tweed.”
Dexter stops me before my fingers can slip under the waistband of his jeans by taking my hand and kissing my palm.
My stomach flips at his touch.
“We need butter,” Dexter says, pressing his lips against my knuckles.
“Why?” I demand, with a note of concern in my voice.
“For the grilled cheese.” He meets my gaze. “Why do you think?”
“I thought maybe you… I didn’t know, maybe…” I stammer.
His eyes dance. “Thought I was getting a bit kinky, did you?”
I pull my hand away. “No!”
He laughs and starts laying out the bread for the sandwiches. “Mayo, too, please.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.” He looks up. “You do trust me, don’t you?”
Is trust this easy? I was with a man for almost twenty years who cheated on me. That did more damage to my ability to trust than anything else. Am I supposed to blindly trust Dexter just because we had sex?
But isn’t that what sex is? Intimacy—the ultimate form of trust. A person gives themselves to another, showing vulnerability. There are so many ways to hurt your partner, physically and emotionally, but you have to trust them not to take advantage.
“I do,” I say slowly.
Dexter frowns. “You don’t sound so sure. Is this because of the divorce?”
I shake my head as I pull out the frying pan. “I don’t want to spoil this by talking about Carlos. What video games do you play?”
“Right now, I switch from Baldur’s Trek to Wild World,” Dexter says. “You might not know—”
“I’ve heard of both,” I confess.
The excitement on his face is adorable. “It would make this so much more fantastic if you were a gamer, too.”
“I’m not,” I say, hating to disappoint him. “But before I was married, I did story development for games. I actually worked on Wild World for a year. It would have been one of the older versions but—”
“I’ve been playing it for more than twenty years.” Dexter’s smile is brighter than the kitchen light. “And you did that?”
“Some. Not all.”
“Still. That’s pretty incredible. And now I’m feeling a little self-conscious about you being in my class.”
“Don’t. I’ve always loved fantasy. I read a lot of romantasy these days, but when I saw your course, it sounded like a lot of fun.”
“It is. At least I think it is. Plates.” I hold out two plates and he flips the sandwiches onto them. Both are perfectly toasted with cheese oozing, but not yet hitting the pan.
“These look great.”
“I’ve perfected a few things. Ketchup or no ketchup?”
“Always ketchup.”
“And you keep getting more and more perfect.” He follows me to the table. “You look incredible in my shirt, by the way.”
“You look pretty good out of it,” I tell him shyly.