His mouth hitched.
“Hey.” He slid his hand down my side to my hip as he asked, “Sleep good?”
I nodded because I had but also because the movement of his hand had so much of my attention I couldn’t speak.
It got more attention when his fingers met the hem of his shirt I was wearing and pulled it up.
Therefore, it came out kind of squeaky when I asked, “Did you? Sleep good, I mean.”
I also felt my cheeks getting warm and Johnny didn’t miss it. I knew this as his black eyes started twinkling even as the tips of his fingers found the waistband of my panties.
“I slept great,” he murmured, and then didn’t hesitate to go on, “Panties?”
“Sorry?” I asked, confused at his question perhaps because his fingers were trailing along the waistband of the item of clothing we were oddly discussing and it felt nice.
“Panties,” he repeated, not in a question this time.
“Yes, those are, uh . . . my panties,” I confirmed.
This got me the bright, white, beautiful smile. “Babe, why’d you put on your panties?”
I blinked up at him.
His fingers slid inside the waistband to lightly cup one cheek of my behind.
My lips parted.
“Sweet, shy Eliza,” he muttered like he was referencing me to someone else even if he was gazing right into my eyes. “Gonna have to break you of that.”
Yes.
Oh God, please let it be yes.
This was the beginning of something.
“You hungry?” he asked conversationally.
I nodded, not really knowing if I was or I wasn’t. Mostly knowing I liked the warmth and possessiveness of his hand down my pants.
“Wanna fuck before or after I feed you?” he inquired.
My legs wobbled.
He felt it, I knew because that got me another smile, this one less sweet and oh-so-much-more sexy.
“Both,” he whispered, his head coming toward mine. “Starting with before.”
“Johnny,” I whispered back, but I did it with my lips moving against his.
His eyes were open, they were close, because I’ll note again, his lips were against mine, when he answered, “Yeah?”
“My coffee,” I noted idiotically.
Sadly, his lips went away.
Then my coffee went away and was set on the railing by his.
Then his lips were back.
“I haven’t even taken a sip,” I announced, again looking in his eyes so close, I could count the (abundant) eyelashes.
“Make you three pots after I make you come,” he mumbled then moved infinitesimally closer.
“Johnny,” I said urgently, again waylaying the kiss for no reason at all.
He was a good kisser. The best. The best I’d ever had.
By far.
Still, I was me.
So I was nervous.
“Izzy,” he replied.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Shut up.”
I shut up.
And then, finally, he kissed me.
The Code to His Phone
Izzy
IT WAS ME that switched it up.
It was me who made him let me take over.
I didn’t know why I did it. I didn’t know that I had it in me to do it. I didn’t even think about any of this stuff.
I just did it.
The night before, Johnny had dragged, pulled, shifted, hauled and anything else he wanted to do to get me where he wanted me to be. On my back. On my knees. On his face.
That morning, it started out the same way. It started out like it had continued after the first time the night before.
The first time being fast and hungry and urgent and spectacular.
The rest of it was slow and hot and unhurried and spectacular.
That morning, it was the second kind.
Until I switched it up.
Until I took over.
It was when I was naked and he was naked.
It was when I was sopping wet and he was rock hard.
It was when every inch of me buzzed, and that buzz shimmered deeper from anything he did—a touch, a kiss, a lick, a nip—but also just looking at him, the harshness of sex set in his face, the dilation of his black eyes taking them from bright to blazing.
It was then I pushed him to his back, and at first he allowed it since I could tell he wanted it, because he was willing, for that moment, to go with my flow in order to move me into his new flow.
But when I held his shoulders down, straddled him, feeling his hard cock graze the damp curls between my legs, and I looked into his face, he stilled.
I did not.
I bent to him, sweeping my lips from his neck down to his collarbone up to his shoulder, thrilling in the warm silken skin over hard muscle my lips encountered.
I found his hand, laced my fingers in his and pulled it away from his body. After that, I trailed my lips down his arm, stopping to kiss the bulge of his biceps, moving on to lightly nip the skin at the inside juncture of his elbow.
Then I sat up abruptly, taking his hand with me.
I unlaced our fingers so I could flatten his hand against my chest, my eyes locked to his. Slowly, I drew his hand down my chest, between my breasts, over my belly.
And he held my eyes.
He didn’t look at his hand. My body.
He looked into my eyes.
God, I loved it that he kept looking into my eyes.
At my final destination, I twisted our hands, curled them in. My middle finger over his, both of them I took inside.
My head fell back.
His hips jerked.
“Izzy,” he growled.
My eyes were closed and I didn’t open them when his other hand curved around my breast, his calloused thumb rough as he dragged it across my nipple.
I started panting, feeling his finger move both of ours inside me, lifting my other hand to cover his at my breast to feel his movements there as he engaged his finger with his thumb and started rolling.
“God,” I breathed, rocking into our fingers, feeling the back of my hand slide over the underside of his hard cock.
“Look at me,” he ordered gruffly.
I didn’t look at him.
It felt so good, everything, I arched into his hand at my breast as I rode his finger inside me.
He stopped rolling with one, thrusting with the other, and I heard, “Eliza, look at me.”
I tipped my head down and slowly opened my eyes.
“I’m inside you, Iz, any way I can be inside you, you look at me,” he demanded thickly.
“Okay, Johnny,” I forced out.
“Ride it,” he commanded. “Show me.”
I rode it. I showed him. I helped him fuck me with his finger and tug at my nipple until the beauty it was causing had me whimpering, my movements desperate, my eyes floating closed.
He drove deep with our fingers, planted them there, and my eyes shot open.
“Eyes on me,” he growled.
“Yes,” I whispered, swaying into him when his finger moved again, the desperation turning to violence, urging him to fuck me brutally with our fingers, something he did, slamming my clit into the apple of his hand.
“Christ, sweet, shy Izzy, skittish as a cat, hides the wild of a sex kitten,” he murmured.
“I’m a prude,” I pushed out nonsensically.