Kira #2
I raise my arms as he peels the sweater off, dropping it to the side of the chaise.
My bra is simple, plain cotton, nothing special, but the way his gaze moves over me makes heat bloom across my chest and neck.
He doesn’t speak. Instead he leans down and presses open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, then lower, following the edge of the bra.
His stubble scrapes lightly and it sends sparks straight through me.
My hands fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons.
When the last one gives way I push the fabric off his shoulders.
He shrugs it the rest of the way off and lets it fall.
His skin is warm under my palms, smooth over firm muscle.
I trace the line of his shoulder, then down his arm, feeling the tension there.
He kisses me again, slower, like he’s savoring every second. One hand cups my breast through the bra, thumb brushing over the fabric until my nipple tightens and I gasp.
“I can stop if you want me to..." Timur's eyes meet mine, but his hand doesn't stop squeezing. I feel the hard press of his dick on my outer thigh, and there aren't enough red flags in the world to make me tell him to stop.
"Don't..." I whisper. "Keep going."
His fingers find the clasp of my bra, and the straps slip down my arms as he pulls it away, tossing it with the sweater.
For a moment he just stares, eyes moving over my bare skin with reverence.
Then he lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling gently.
The heat makes my back arch off the chaise and my fingers thread into his hair, holding him there as a quiet moan slips out.
"Mmm, more..."
He switches sides, giving the same slow attention while his free hand strokes my side, my ribs, the curve of my waist. Everything feels heightened, every touch leaving a trail of warmth.
When he lifts his head again, his lips are flushed and damp. He kisses my lips again, then moves to my neck, sucking lightly at the spot below my ear. It does something to my body, making me feel warm and fuzzy.
“I want you, Kira." Timur hovers over me, inches from my face. The scent of whiskey on his breath is intoxicating. I don’t know what’s happening but I’m losing myself in him.
"I want you too... I think..." There's no hesitation as I reach for his belt, fingers clumsy with nerves and lust. He helps me work the buckle open then takes over, unzipping.
He lifts his hips enough for me to push the trousers down his thighs and his boxers go with them.
When he kicks them off the rest of the way his cock springs free, curving upward.
A bead of moisture already shines at the tip.
He doesn’t let me stare long. Instead he leans down and kisses me again, one hand sliding between my legs to rub me through my jeans. The pressure makes me whimper into his mouth.
“I think we need these off,” he says against my lips, giving the waistband a gentle tug. The fabric pulls at my skin and scratches and I fully agree. I need those off.
I nod and he shifts back. His hands are steady as he unbuttons my jeans and drags the zipper down.
Together we work the denim down my hips and legs.
He pulls them off completely, dropping them to the floor with everything else.
My panties are the last to go, and he takes his time savoring the sight as he hooks his fingers in the sides and slides them down slowly, eyes following the path of fabric until I’m completely bare.
His hand returns, this time skin to skin. Two fingers stroke through my folds, spreading the wetness he finds there. When he circles my clit with light pressure my hips jerk and I whimper.
“Jesus,” he whispers, almost to himself. “All this moisture for me.”
He kisses me again, swallowing the next sound I make as his fingers keep moving in slow, gentle strokes, learning me, drawing out the pleasure until my thighs tremble.
When I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, he groans low into my mouth, hips twitching forward.
“Careful,” he breathes, “or this ends too fast.”
I smile against his lips, a small, shaky thing, and ease my grip. He rewards me with another deep kiss, his fingers still working between my legs in that same unhurried pace.
The chaise feels narrow beneath us but he makes it work, bracing one arm beside my head while the other hand continues its slow exploration.
Every touch is intentional, every kiss tender.
The earlier tears feel far away now, replaced by this swelling heat between us and the touch of his hands on my body.
"Can I make you come?" he asks so politely, I almost snicker, but my answer is to rock my pelvis up into his touch and grind on him as I bite my lip.
His fingers press a little firmer against my clit and I moan softly as he watches me for a beat, eyes dark with intent.
Then he slides down my body and settles between my thighs, broad shoulders spreading me open.
His palms glide up the backs of my legs, pushing them wider, holding me there like a meal he's ready to devour.
“God, I think I dreamed about this last night," he growls. His breath ghosts over my slick folds, making my hips twitch. “Tasting how wet you get for me.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, dragging through my moisture and I moan, my hands shooting to his shoulders where my fingernails dig into his flesh.
He doesn’t rush. He savors—long, thorough licks that map every sensitive inch, circling my clit with just enough pressure to make my back arch and my head roll back.
When he seals his lips around the swollen bud and sucks gently, my hands fist in his hair, fingers tangling tight.
“Oh, God, yes.”
He groans against me, alternating slow licks with firm sucks that have my thighs shaking.
One thick finger slides inside me, curling just right, stroking my G-spot which he finds immediately, like he's memorized the female body.
Then two, stretching me, pumping in time with the relentless rhythm of his mouth.