Page 19 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)
Her warm hands slide tentatively across my chest, and I have to concentrate not to react too strongly. The sensation of her delicate fingers exploring my skin—tracing the lines of my muscles, following the trail of hair down my stomach—is almost overwhelming.
I distract myself by running my palm along her side, from the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, then back up again until I’m only very gently touching the side of her breasts. It’s like I’m dealing with a tentative animal, making no sudden movements that might spook her.
“Your skin is so soft,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her neck, even as the scent of her floods my senses. “You smell amazing.”
“That’s just my shampoo,” she says with a nervous laugh. “Nothing fancy or anything.”
“Trust me,” I say, pressing my nose into the curve of her neck, “it’s not just the shampoo.”
I continue kissing a trail down her throat, and she tilts her head back to give me better access.
Her breathing quickens, and I feel the vibration of a small moan against my lips.
Although I’m aware we haven’t yet gotten further than we did in my apartment, it feels like she’s a hell of a lot more comfortable and eager this time.
“Can I touch your breasts?” I ask, lifting my head to meet her gaze.
She hesitates for just a second before nodding. “Yes.”
Slowly, giving her time to change her mind and slow things down if she wants to, I move my hand up from her waist. When my palm finally cups her breast firmly, we both sigh. The weight of it fits perfectly in my hand, her nipple hardening against my palm.
“How do you like to be touched?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended. “Some women prefer gentle thumb strokes across the nipple…” I demonstrate with a feather-light touch that makes her gasp. “Others like a little more pressure, maybe even pinching.”
“The first one,” she whispers, eyes fluttering closed. “The gentle one.”
I circle her right nipple with my thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm. The sound she makes—a breathy whimper that catches in her throat—is possibly the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard, and I feel my arousal building at her reaction.
“Like that?” I ask.
“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”
Her hands grow bolder, moving from my chest down to my stomach, her fingers tracing the V of muscle that disappears beneath the sheets. I shift against her, letting her feel how hard I am without putting any pressure on her to do anything about it.
“Your body is…” she trails off, shaking her head slightly as her hands explore my shoulders, my arms, my back. “I knew you’d be fit, but this is ridiculous.”
I laugh softly. “Years of hockey.”
“Worth every early morning practice,” she says with surprising conviction. “Although I’m not the one who has to get up and do all that… sport… stuff.”
I grin against her skin as I press my lips to her collarbone. “Glad you like the teaching materials.”
“Definitely.” Her hands slide up my back, fingernails lightly scratching, sending shivers down my spine. “Though I’m still a little intimidated.”
“Don’t be.” I move my attention to her left breast, giving it the same treatment as the right. “We’re just learning each other.”
Her back arches slightly, pressing her breast more firmly into my hand. Her reaction is intoxicating—every little gasp and shiver fuels my desire. I want to memorize exactly how she responds to each touch, what makes her breathing catch, what causes that little furrow between her brows.
“You can use your mouth,” she says suddenly, surprising both of us. Her eyes widen, and a blush spreads across her cheeks. “I mean, on my… you know.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “On your breasts?”
She nods, looking simultaneously embarrassed and aroused. “Yes,” she says.
“I’d love to,” I say, sliding down her body until my mouth hovers over her nipple. I look up, meeting her eyes. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good, OK?”
“OK.”
As I slowly lower my mouth to her breast, Em’s eyes flutter closed, her head pressing back into the pillow.
“Eyes on me,” I say softly, surprising myself with the command. It just slips out.
Her eyes snap open, meeting mine. The flush on her cheeks deepens to a gorgeous scarlet that spreads down her neck to her chest. Something shifts in the air between us—something electric and urgent. But, after a second, she nods, and I get back to work.
I hold her gaze as I take her nipple into my mouth, watching her pupils dilate with desire. Her lips part on a silent gasp. This connection—watching each other as I taste her—feels unexpectedly intimate. More intimate than I planned for our first session.
My tongue circles her nipple, and her hips shift restlessly beneath me. Without breaking eye contact, I slide my thigh between her legs, giving her something to press against. The soft, needy sound she makes sends heat coursing through me.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her skin. “Just feel.”
She responds immediately, her body instinctively seeking friction against my thigh. She’s warm there—hot, actually—and I can feel the dampness of her arousal against my skin. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she rocks against me, her movements tentative at first, then more confident.
“Is this OK?” she whispers, her voice tight with pleasure and uncertainty.
“More than OK,” I assure her. “You’re doing great.”
I take her nipple between my lips again, this time flicking my tongue across the sensitive peak. Her hips buck against my thigh in response. My hands move down to grip her hips, which fit perfectly in my palms—like they were tailor-made for my grip.
It’s getting harder to focus on taking things slow. Every soft moan, every roll of her hips against my thigh, drives me closer to the edge of my control. But this isn’t about me—it’s about Em feeling safe, comfortable, turned on, and ready to take each step before we do.
“Thank you,” she whispers, reaching up to stroke my cheek. “For being patient. For the syllabus.” A smile tugs at her lips. “For making me feel safe.”
Instead of answering, I kiss her nipple again—slow and thorough. Her body melts against mine, and I can feel her relaxing into the sensation, her earlier nervousness fading. Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer as our legs tangle beneath the sheets.
We stay like that, trading kisses, our hands exploring with growing confidence. I keep mine above her waist, respecting the boundaries she’s set, even as my body aches for more. But that doesn’t stop her rubbing herself against my thigh like she needs it.
It’s strange how quickly I’ve become addicted to the taste of her, the feel of her skin against mine. What started as a simple arrangement now feels like something I could happily spend days doing—just learning the contours of her body, the sounds she makes when I find a sensitive spot.
That’s when the bedroom door swings open.