Page 72 of Traces Of You

When he wouldn’t budge, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his back to bring him to her.

His mouth left hers, placing soft butterfly touches of a kiss on the corner of her mouth, down her chin, her neck, and then collarbone.

“I love seeing you in my shirts,” he said.

She smiled. “I love wearing them. When you aren’t here, I still feel your presence surrounding me.”

His large hands slid under his old baggy sweatshirt that she was wearing, touching her skin. His palms were rough, a few callouses from years of work on the farm both as a boy and now as a man.

It was another sign of strength to her.

His sweatshirt and her T-shirt were lifted inch by inch, her arms rising while he pulled it off of her.

“Sorry it’s not more attractive,” she said of her bra. Not sexy, but rather a plain white cotton sports bra strapping her in.

“I only see you. The real you.”

He removed her bra as quickly as he had her shirt, her breasts in front of his gaze, his eyes staring at her puckered nipples.

His thumbs ran over the tips, the sensations slamming into her chest, then traveling at warp speed to her core and landing between her legs.

Her eyes shut and a sigh escaped between her parted lips.

If she’d been watching, she would have had a warning that his mouth was going to replace one of his thumbs.

The minute the wetness of his tongue swirling happened, her hips ground against him.

“Slow down,” he said.

“I can’t. It’s been so long. Then all this time with you. Watching you. Wanting you. Needing you.”

He growled, and his mouth moved away from her breast, his hands going to the button on her jeans.

He made quick work of removing them and her underwear, leaving her bare on the bed for his viewing pleasure.

She wouldn’t be self-conscious with his eyes roaming over her.

He took everything in as he did when he entered a room.

Assessing and evaluating his next course of action.

“Don’t overthink it,” she said, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

His smile lit up the dim room. He hadn’t turned a light on, just came in and left the door open so the glow from the living room was shining in, but she still saw his expression.

He slid down the bed, his lips kissing her hip bone, one side then the other, and moving lower.

She shaved daily because it was easier to get rid of it all. He seemed to appreciate it when he spread her wide, his tongue coming out to lap her up in one swift stroke.

She dropped her head onto the pillow after lifting it to watch him.

There was no reason to watch when she could feel.

He settled on her swollen bundle of flesh at the top, darting around with the tip of his tongue, testing her, tasting her, working her up higher than she thought it was possible to go.

“Stop wiggling,” he said, the humor in his voice evident.

“I can’t help it. Everything feels so good.”