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Day 33 – Juliet
He was kissing me. Soft lips brushed mine, hesitant and gentle. The tip of his tongue skimmed my lips, and I sighed. The sound gave him permission, and he increased the pressure. Sucking at tender skin, he pulled at my lips with his, and I responded, surprising myself. His hand remained at my throat, and our knees knocked under water, but his mouth had all my attention. His tongue lapped at the seam of my mouth, and I opened for him. We moved in unison, our feet easily touching the bottom of the pond. The water only waist high, which meant the instant we stood my swollen breasts hit his cool chest. My hands came to his shoulders but he didn’t tug me any closer to him.
He kissed me.
Mouths moved in opposing rhythm that cut a pattern of nipping and licking. The tempo increased, and I felt a familiar ache tremble low in my belly. I clenched my thighs, and a new beat struck, the pulse rapidly filling me. My mouth became more curious, my tongue seeking his. I stroked over it, purring gently as he returned the curiosity by invading my mouth. His lips tugged at mine, drinking me in, and then I was released.
I panted after the abrupt stop. His eyes focused on mine.
“You’re turned on.” It was a question and a surprise. How could he not see what he’d done to me? He’d done it before. My body vibrated with need. Either he’d have to touch me, which I wasn’t ready for, or I needed to be excused to relieve myself.
Gentle fingers skated down my throat and traced along my collar bone from side to side. His eyes followed the trail of his fingers. Slowly, they lowered, seeking the swell of each breast, rounding over one and dipping to circle the other. My breathing increased and my chest rose, nearly begging him to touch me. His eyes pulled up to mine, seeking permission for something I wasn’t able to handle yet. Rethinking the infinity symbol he drew around and between my breasts, he moved in another direction. A single fingertip stroked down the slope of one breast to touch my nipple as he’d done under the water.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, letting his eyes drift to where he touched. “I want so much more of you, but I’m afraid to ask. Afraid I won’t stop myself. Let me watch you.”
I understood his meaning, and my hand slipped over my stomach. His eyes focused lower while his finger traced tantalizing circles over my nipple, occasionally pinching the tight bud. He watched as my fingers disappeared, but he knew I stroked through slick folds. The pressure built quickly, and as his fingertip increased, the repetition of my touch did as well.
His other hand slipped into his soaked boxer briefs. The sodden clothing accentuated the thick length of him, the white material nearly opaque from the water. He fisted himself. The subtle slick sound of skin stroking skin filtered through the air. The water lapped at his thighs, as he was taller than me.
“May I ask—” he whispered, and I reached for him without him completing the question. It was bold to touch him, sliding my hand into his underwear and gripping him. He let out a heavy groan, a sound that rolled from the depths of his throat but spoke of pleasure. I smoothed my palm over his mushroomed head and then wrapped my fingers around the silky, smooth shaft. It was a bit awkward, working within his wet underwear, and I fumbled slightly with my rhythm, but when I saw his eyes roll back momentarily, I felt empowered. This is what he wanted. He wanted permission. This is what I needed. I needed to feel in control. His sounds and his movements proved I had it over him.
The power rests in me.
I squeezed him tighter, producing a hiss from his lips and a milky substance at the tip. The sight made me gasp, and I panted as the flutter inside me increased.
“Yes. Like that, Mouse.” The nickname should have stopped me, but it only pissed me off. This heightened the stroking of myself and the friction on the length of him. His hand covered mine, and he worked us in tandem to get where he needed. With fingers still on my nipple, he pinched me hard. “Now, baby,” he grunted. Watching him ejaculate on my fist set me over the edge. I cried out, rocking over my hand. His hand slipped to my hip, squeezing me to keep up the rhythm, but I’d had enough. Exhausted, I let go of him and withdrew my hand from between my legs. I sank into the water and pressed back from him. He stared down at me, slowly smiling, green-eyes gleaming. Unabashed that he stood before me, partially peeking out the band of his underwear, he ran a hand through his hair.
“Have dinner with me,” he said, and I blinked up at him.
I turned for the rocks to exit the pond. His eyes weighed on my back as I climbed out of the cold water. I didn’t look back, but I wanted to see the expression on his face. Not only had he never asked for things, I sensed he’d never been told no. I only had one way to compromise.
“Maybe.”