Don't Call Me Hero by Eliza Lentzski

now barefoot, we no longer saw eye-to-eye, but the unspoken challenge remained in her vibrant eyes and the knowing smirk never left her twisted mouth.
    Her hands rested on the front of my jeans and she toyed with the metal button. She wasn’t struggling to unfasten my pants; she was teasing me as if contemplating whether she wanted to unwrap a present or not. Her eyes never left mine. She gave a mighty tug and the unforgiving denim dug into me. My breath hitched, but I wasn’t going to give her more than that. But I knew if she continued to dally, I’d be forced to take matters into my own hands.
    She finally unbuttoned my jeans and slid the zipper down. I let her take her time as she peeled tight denim down my hips and thighs. It would have been faster and more efficient if I’d done it myself, but the pads of her fingers were exquisite on my skin as she worked those jeans down my legs.
    Left only in my bra and underwear, I could have waited to see if she’d strip me of more, but I was too impatient to get my hands and mouth all over her. I felt like a racehorse in its corral, waiting for the starting bell.
    With a simple movement, my hands were behind the crook of her knees, and I was lifting her off the ground. She made a surprised noise that I was able to carry her with limited effort, and her hands flew to the back of my neck and shoulders to stabilize herself as I carried her the few feet to the bed I’d only slept in once.
    I was thankful I’d taken the time to wash my bedding before I’d packed it up. The sweet smell of laundry soap filled my nostrils as I laid her down on the bed and scrambled to hover over her. Soon it would be the scent of our conjoined arousal that perfumed the air.
    I kissed along her rippled torso. I couldn’t imagine the exercise and self-discipline required to achieve such perfection. My mouth found hers again, and my thigh came to rest between her legs. I ground against her and she moaned into my open mouth. She met each thrust of my muscled thigh with her own, and the noises coming out of her beautiful mouth and the sound of her labored breathing had me galloping toward my own release.
    As painfully arousing as the sight of the garters were, I had no idea what to do with them. I reached between our bodies and slid her underwear to the side. She was shaved everywhere except for a closely cropped landing strip. I stroked my fingers over smooth, naked skin and through short, coarse hair while she arched into the touch.
    Two fingers found their way inside of her, and I ground the heel of my palm into her clit. She released another delicious, throaty groan as I pushed deeper inside. It was about as intimate as a public restroom fuck with her still half-clothed and me more so, but I wasn’t going to mount a protest.
    Her palms slammed hard against my shoulder blades, and for a moment I thought she was going to make me stop. But those fingers curled around my shoulders, and she pulled me down tighter against her so our breasts crushed together.
    Her hips kept jerking and bucking erratically, making it hard for me to find a rhythm. I pulled away, still on my knees on the mattress, and pressed my free hand flat against her lower abdomen while my other hand furiously pistoned in and out of her. Her mouth fell open and her eyes screwed shut. I could still feel the movements of her hips beneath me, but I was able to keep her pinned to the mattress.
    Despite my physical fitness, my right bicep began to burn. Each hard thrust brought a grunt to my lips from exertion. Her cries had become more desperate and high-pitched, and she tightened around my fingers. Her hand shot out and she clutched my right arm, silently urging for just a little more. I wasn’t sure I would outlast her orgasm, but I threw my own comfort to the side and focused on getting her off. I licked my thumb on the hand that had been holding her down and swiped it across her clit.
    She jerked hard into me once more. “I’m