pulled it off over my head and his low whistle told me all I needed to know. He rolled us both to the side, one arm under my shoulders and the other hand doing amazing things to my breasts. This time his kiss had more intention, his tongue thrusting, both of us panting. I scooted his shirt up as far as I could and we broke the kiss so he could pull it off over his head.
We lay pressed together, my nipples tingling where they rubbed against the ginger hairs on his chest. He ran lazy kisses over my chin and down my neck. “Are we having sex or not?” he asked, his lips moving just above the base of my throat.
I curled my upper body so I could whisper into his ear. “Do you have a condom?”
He dropped onto his back, laughing. “One.”
I shifted, curving myself along the side of his body and fighting a squeal of excitement because we were talking about having sex. My heart beat faster than any Irish reel, and the slippery heat between my legs needed Randy’s attention. Badly.
Trailing gentle circles through the hair on his chest, my fingers stopped at his belt buckle. “You weren’t a Boy Scout, I guess.”
“Hell, yes. That’s why I carry one. I just didn’t figure this weekend would put a big demand on my supply.”
“But you thought you might need one?” I went to work loosening the buckle of his belt.
He pulled me down for a kiss. “Be prepared.”
A brand-new box of condoms was hidden in the bottom of my bag, but if I ran over to my cabin, would I lose my nerve completely?
Hmm.
According to the
Cosmo
article, I needed to find a frenulum to flick. We could deal with the issue of prophylactics later.
“Come here,” I whispered, then slid to the floor on my knees.
Eyes narrowed in a thoughtful skepticism, he swung his legs to the floor in front of me, close enough to run my fingertips along his belly. I pulled the band out of my hair and shook it loose, then scooted over, inviting him to stand. Using my shoulder for leverage, he did, and I went work on his jeans, button after frustrating button. He
would
wear vintage Levi’s. I dragged his pants over his butt, feeling around for his nonexistent boxers.
Oh.
Commando.
He chuckled, the sexiest sound ever, and scuffed his jeans off the rest of the way. “What are you up to?”
“Shh.” I lay a fingertip on my lips. His wicked smile gave me all kinds of encouragement, but still I paused, eye level to one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
A band matching the one on Randy’s upper arm had been tattooed just above his right knee. A trailing vine rose from it, wrapping around his thigh and creeping up. The vine became a serpent, climbing over his hip and ending just above his pubic bone. I couldn’t actually see the serpent’s head through his erection, but made a leap of logic from my position on the floor.
I traced my fingers along the tattoo, the motion punctuated by his sharp intake of breath. Leaning forward, I pressed my face against him, nuzzling the coarse curls at the base of his shaft, breathing in the musky masculine smell that had nothing to do with cigarettes or salt water.
I cupped his balls with one hand and grasped the base of him with the other. His muttered “shit” sent a buzz of excitement to my happy place. Good. He liked my idea. I needed this, needed him, needed to be in charge of how I got new memories.
“You put your mouth on me,” he said, drawing in a quick breath as I ran my fingertips along his shaft, “and we’re pretty much going to be having sex.”
“Yeah.” I turned the word into a soft whistle, blowing over the head. He pulsed in my grip, and after culling the memories of the
Cosmo
article for a few more ideas, I took him in my mouth.
The last time I’d given a blow job, I was so scared I’d do something wrong, neither of us had much fun. This time I let the sounds he made and the shivery tension in his thighs guide me. His hands wandered through my hair and stroked my shoulders and I
We lay pressed together, my nipples tingling where they rubbed against the ginger hairs on his chest. He ran lazy kisses over my chin and down my neck. “Are we having sex or not?” he asked, his lips moving just above the base of my throat.
I curled my upper body so I could whisper into his ear. “Do you have a condom?”
He dropped onto his back, laughing. “One.”
I shifted, curving myself along the side of his body and fighting a squeal of excitement because we were talking about having sex. My heart beat faster than any Irish reel, and the slippery heat between my legs needed Randy’s attention. Badly.
Trailing gentle circles through the hair on his chest, my fingers stopped at his belt buckle. “You weren’t a Boy Scout, I guess.”
“Hell, yes. That’s why I carry one. I just didn’t figure this weekend would put a big demand on my supply.”
“But you thought you might need one?” I went to work loosening the buckle of his belt.
He pulled me down for a kiss. “Be prepared.”
A brand-new box of condoms was hidden in the bottom of my bag, but if I ran over to my cabin, would I lose my nerve completely?
Hmm.
According to the
Cosmo
article, I needed to find a frenulum to flick. We could deal with the issue of prophylactics later.
“Come here,” I whispered, then slid to the floor on my knees.
Eyes narrowed in a thoughtful skepticism, he swung his legs to the floor in front of me, close enough to run my fingertips along his belly. I pulled the band out of my hair and shook it loose, then scooted over, inviting him to stand. Using my shoulder for leverage, he did, and I went work on his jeans, button after frustrating button. He
would
wear vintage Levi’s. I dragged his pants over his butt, feeling around for his nonexistent boxers.
Oh.
Commando.
He chuckled, the sexiest sound ever, and scuffed his jeans off the rest of the way. “What are you up to?”
“Shh.” I lay a fingertip on my lips. His wicked smile gave me all kinds of encouragement, but still I paused, eye level to one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
A band matching the one on Randy’s upper arm had been tattooed just above his right knee. A trailing vine rose from it, wrapping around his thigh and creeping up. The vine became a serpent, climbing over his hip and ending just above his pubic bone. I couldn’t actually see the serpent’s head through his erection, but made a leap of logic from my position on the floor.
I traced my fingers along the tattoo, the motion punctuated by his sharp intake of breath. Leaning forward, I pressed my face against him, nuzzling the coarse curls at the base of his shaft, breathing in the musky masculine smell that had nothing to do with cigarettes or salt water.
I cupped his balls with one hand and grasped the base of him with the other. His muttered “shit” sent a buzz of excitement to my happy place. Good. He liked my idea. I needed this, needed him, needed to be in charge of how I got new memories.
“You put your mouth on me,” he said, drawing in a quick breath as I ran my fingertips along his shaft, “and we’re pretty much going to be having sex.”
“Yeah.” I turned the word into a soft whistle, blowing over the head. He pulsed in my grip, and after culling the memories of the
Cosmo
article for a few more ideas, I took him in my mouth.
The last time I’d given a blow job, I was so scared I’d do something wrong, neither of us had much fun. This time I let the sounds he made and the shivery tension in his thighs guide me. His hands wandered through my hair and stroked my shoulders and I
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