Chapter 11 #2
I watch his eyes tug away from mine and slip lower, and now he's gazing at my breasts.
My nipples are so hard they hurt, and my breasts feel engorged and strangely heavy.
My breath lodges in my throat when he passes his hand over my shoulder, brushing my bra strap aside; without that support, my breast sags to one side; he repeats the action on the other side.
I am struggling to breathe now, panting and searching his face, watching his eyes linger on my chest. The difficulty in catching my breath only worsens when he moves his mouth from mine to my breastbone again, and then kisses lower and lower…
his lips skim my skin between my breasts, and now he is hungrily, almost desperately kissing my décolletage.
With each kiss, my nipples harden more and more until I am panting with…I know not what this feeling is.
Need. Desperation. Hunger.
A yawning, aching, empty, hollowness within me…
and the heat and pressure behind my sex pulses and thrums, and I become acutely aware of my clitoris, for some reason; whatever medical, anatomical knowledge regarding the mechanics of sex and female arousal I possess have been scattered out of my awareness entirely.
There is no reason, no knowledge in me, now, only sensation.
Kissing as much of the exposed flesh of my breasts as he can, Riley slips a hand under my back between me and the truck bed—seeking the closure of my bra, I realize.
"Wait," I gasp.
He immediately yanks his hand out and stops kissing me. "What, babe?" He breathes, his gaze concerned. "Too fast?"
"N-no," I whisper, blushing furiously and unable to look even in the direction of his face. "I—it…" I grasp his hand and guide it to my chest. "My b-bra…" I stammer, mortified yet excited, "it is a f-f-front c-clasp."
His grin is…devilish. Heated. "Oh."
He touches my chin, lifts my face. "Can you look at me, sweetheart? Just for a second. Please."
I force my eyes to his, squirming at the acute discomfort of direct eye contact—especially when I see such blatant arousal on his face.
Arousal caused by me.
Perhaps he will appreciate my nude form, after all. That would be rather nice.
"So, what you're saying is," he murmurs, focused intently on my eyes and nowhere else, "you want me to do…this.”
He grips both bra cups in one hand, pulls them together, and somehow manages to undo the clasp one-handed. His eyes stay on my face—I am blushing furiously, my cheeks flaming hot. My heart crashes wildly.
All he must do now is let go and my breasts will be bared for his gaze. He is waiting. Watching me. I cannot breathe—no longer panting, my lungs ache from holding my breath in anticipation.
"Yes or no, honey?" he whispers, his eyes on mine.
"I…" I pause, searching myself—the answer is yes, but the word will not leave my lips. Instead, I hear myself blurt the thought that has been top of mind since he began kissing his way down. "My nipples are very hard and very sensitive. I…I am—"
He grins. "Means you're turned on, babe." He lets the tension out a little. "Tell me what you want, Cadence. Yes or no?"
Turned on. Sexually aroused.
Yes.
I search myself once more and find only that answer. "Yes."
"Thank fucking god," he growls. "Been dying to see your tits, Cadence."
"I am afraid you will not like them. I am afraid they are not big enough. Or—or not the right shape."
He laughs at this—I know by now that when he laughs at me, I must remember not to assume ill intent. "I'm not laughing at you, Cadence, I just—"
"I know that now," I whisper.
He keeps hold, still, his eyes on mine. "There's absolutely, positively zero chance I won't find your tits as perfect and incredible as the rest of you. I promise.”
"But you have not seen them."
"Don't have to."
I swallow hard. "Explain, if you would. Please."
He sniffs a laugh. "Makin' me work for it, huh?
" He nuzzles the tip of his nose against mine, grinning at me.
"Easy to explain, sweetheart. One, they're part of you, and you're gorgeous.
Just objectively, regardless of how I feel about you, you are fucking breathtaking—and even if you had no boobs at all, like mosquito bites or whatever, you'd still be hot as fuck and I'd still be just as desperate to get you topless. "
"Desperate?" I breathe.
"Completely."
"Oh." I gnaw on my lip. "And the other reason? You said number one, which implies the presence of a second reason."
He holds my gaze, and I feel him very gradually releasing his hold on the closure. "Number two? I'm lookin' at 'em, sweetheart, and they're fuckin' perfect."
"They are still almost entirely covered."
"And even so, they're fucking epic, Cadence. Absolutely perfect."
"Let go now, please," I breathe. "I cannot bear the suspense any longer."
He spreads his fingers apart, releasing the cups.
They fly apart, and my naked breasts spill out.
"Fuck me," he groans. "See? Perfect." He licks his lips, and his eyes are locked, rapt, on my breasts, which heave with my almost frantic breathing.
"God…damn, Cadence. Even more gorgeous than I'd imagined. "
“You…imagined them?"
"Fuck yes I have. Frequently. And the reality is way better than anything I could have fantasized about.”
He slides his hand over my belly, covering my navel, and then up and up until the undersides of my breasts touch the upper edge of his hand. My breath catches, then. My nipples are peaked and hard and aching and I am shaking all over, searching his face and waiting for him to touch me there.
"You are the first and only man to see me like this," I whisper.
It feels important to note that, for some reason. I do not know why.
"Thank you for trusting me with this privilege, Cadence." He cups my face, kisses me softly. "Please believe me when I say that I'm not taking this for granted."
His lips move ghostly-soft on mine as he speaks, and I lift up, mate my mouth to his, open my lips, and sweep my tongue in his mouth to elicit that growl.
Yes, there it is—his chest rumbles with the sound, which sends a searing pulse of heat and pressure billowing through my entire body—my fingertips tingle, my scalp tingles, my toes.
My nipples stiffen so hard and so tight that I find myself arching my back in a vain attempt to relieve the ache somehow.
His rough palm scrapes my belly as he caresses upward…and this time, he does not stop.
He gathers the weight of my breast into his hand, cupping it.
I whimper through clenched teeth at the feel of his hand, where no hand save mine has ever touched.
The whimper becomes a shrill gasp when he strums my peaked, throbbing nipple with his thumb—a sensation like a bolt of electricity sizzles through me, rocketing in a hot line from my nipple to my privates.
I arch again, this time pressing my breast into his hand.
The ache is not relieved, however; rather, it worsens.
As does the pressure behind my sex—the throb and pulse of blood rushing and pooling and pounding in my clitoris is all-consuming.
This is arousal.
It is utterly maddening. It is a need I cannot meet. A hunger I cannot sate, a thirst I cannot quench.
"Riley…" I breathe.
"Yeah, Beautiful? You okay with this?"
I open my eyes and look up at him; he is staring at my breasts as if memorizing them. Perhaps he is. "I feel…"
"How?"
"It is difficult to put into words." I arch again, and he bends over me, kisses the upper slope of the breast he holds in his hand, and I gasp. "Ohhh…my goodness. I feel…"
He kisses down the swell, and now he cups the underside of my breast, presenting it to himself, offering my breast to his mouth.
I cannot even manage a gasp when he covers my nipple with his mouth and suckles it gently, softly—his mouth is scorching hot and wet, and his tongue flattens my aching nipple against the roof of his mouth, and the electric heat shivers through me and makes my clitoris pulse crazily, throbbing so intensely I have to press my thighs together in yet another vain attempt to alleviate the ache.
"Oh! Oh my...Riley—"
He groans. "Fuck, woman. You're so goddamn sensitive. Fucking incredible."
"That I am sensitive?" I ask, confused.
"Yeah, honey," he murmurs. "It's hot. You make the hottest fucking sounds every time I touch you."
"I cannot help the sounds."
"Good. Don't. Don't ever hold back those sounds. Okay?" he cups my jaw and makes me look at him. "No restraint. No control. I want you wild, Cadence."
He returns his attention to my breasts, now caressing the other, cupping it, squeezing it, testing the weight of it, and then offering it up to his mouth—yanking another shrill gasp from me.
I ache everywhere, now, and my dress suddenly feels too tight and too hot and too restrictive. My panties, too. I writhe under his touch and groan, and now I finally understand my roommate's claim that I cannot understand unless I experience it.
His touch on my breasts is driving me wild.
My clitoris throbs every time he touches me, more and more, and when he takes my nipple in his mouth and suckles on it and tongues it and worries it with his teeth, I feel like some part of me might explode like an overfilled water balloon—the part of me at the apex of my thighs.
I clasp my hand against his head as he kisses and licks and sucks on my nipples, feather my fingers in his hair, and clutch him to me—communicating, I hope, how much I enjoy his attentions.
My sex aches so badly it qualifies as pain. I press my thighs together but this does nothing to alleviate the ache, the pressure.
Riley rolls toward me and moves his mouth to mine and kisses my lips, demands my tongue, and rolls my nipple between finger and thumb—the combination of his kiss and the pinching of my nipple is almost the catalyst for my combustion—it feels as if I am teetering on the brink of some abyssal precipice.
It frightens me, this feeling. It is intense, wild, and all-consuming.