He stroked his hand lightly over her, his touch gentle. His touch circled, tracing a wider route, drifting down over her sides and up to the edge of her shirt and the waist of her low-cut jeans. Emma closed her eyes, his gentie stroking both relaxing and arousing. It reminded her how much they had already shared together, and that she had no reason not to trust him.
Each time his hand stroked up toward her shirt, she wished it would go higher; he seemed to be teasing her with the possibility. He didn't go any farther, though, even when she moved so that her breasts would be closer to his hand.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, moving again so that her message was clear.
The wicked smile returned to his lips. 'You have to tell me. Say it out loud.'
'You know what I want.'
'Say it.'
'Are you getting off on this?' she complained.
The wicked grin widened. 'Yeah, I am.'
The admission sent a tremor through her. 'Really?'
He moved his hand slowly across her belly, the edge of his fingers skimming the waistband of her jeans, sending a shiver straight down her panties. 'Yes,' he said, 'I really am enjoying this.'
'I don't want to disappoint you,' she admitted.
He sighed. 'The only way you'll disappoint me is if you lie there worrying about what I'm thinking. Be selfish. Be rude. Be crass and ask for raunchy things that you think will revolt me. Ask for silly things. Embarrassing things!'
'Why is it so hard to do?' she asked softly.
'Maybe because you've never done it.'
She lay her hand over his on her stomach, holding his large, strong hand still. He was right: she'd never done it, not with anything in her life. The realization had been growing in her since meeting Russ; it had been appearing to her repeatedly in different forms, but the theme was the same in each go-round. She'd seen it enough now to be heartily sick of it.
If she couldn't find and ask for what she, Emma Mayson, wanted in a situation as safe and enticing as this one, then she might as well give up on ever achieving any of her dreams. A life of utter mediocrity and disappointment was all she'd ever have.
'Undo my jeans,' she said. 'Take them off.'
He did as she asked, his fingers hard against her soft flesh as he struggled with the button. She felt a smile pulling at her mouth.
'You're not used to being the seducer, are you?' she asked.
He fought the button free and made short work of her zipper. 'I'm a quick learner.' He nudged her to lift her hips, and a moment later her jeans were gone, her shoes going with them.
'Socks,' she said. 'Off. Then…' she hesitated. She wanted it, but she couldn't imagine he'd want to do it. She herself wouldn't want to do it to him.
He peeled her socks off. 'What do you want?'
'Could you…'
'Tell me.'
'Suck my toes? Lick my arch?'
He laughed and climbed up onto the bed, sitting near her feet. He seemed completely unselfconscious of his nakedness, although sitting tailor fashion left his goodies in plain sight. Holding her heel in the palm of his hand, he met her eyes and raised her foot toward his mouth.
Emma laughed nervously and covered her eyes with her hands. Her toes curled in anticipation, and she was embarrassingly aware that with her leg raised and her panties off, she was giving him just as big a display as he was giving her.
He kissed the side of her foot where the arch began its curve, then darted his tongue out in a quick flick.
It tickled more than anything. 'Harder,' she said, peering between her fingers.
He ran the point of his tongue against her arch, apparently as hard as he could. Emma flinched and laughed. 'No, that tickles!'
He did it again and again, and she tried to get away, her hands coming down to push against the mattress. She tugged her foot, but he held tight and licked.
'No, not like that!' Laughter made her weak, helpless under his torture.
Russ relented and did as he knew she wanted, using the flat of his tongue to stroke her arch. He'd only tickled her to get her to relax, just as he'd deliberately fumbled the striptease.
He had thought, given Emma's bold sexual adventuring, that she'd deliberately kept from opening up to him. Instead, she was just as shy in her way as he was in his. Maybe even more so; at least he had ten years' more experience with expressing his wants in bed, however hesitant those expressions might be.
That she was trying to open up to him now meant a lot to him; he did not underestimate the fragility of the trust she was offering him. Whatever she wanted, he would do it and be grateful she had shared it with him.
At the end of this night, she would have no physical secrets left. The thought of feeling her contractions around him as he thrust deep inside; of seeing her face lost in passion he had created; of knowing she had given herself over to him completely: it made him hard, and he knew he would stay that way through any length of toe sucking.
Before Emma, he hadn't spared more than a passing thought for what went on below the surface of a woman's mind. He hadn't cared enough to ask, and hadn't understood how much it could mean to him.
In his youth, he hadn't even suspected that a woman might hold part of herself separate, that what he saw wasn't all there was to get.
He licked the arch of her foot again and she squirmed, her hands fisting at her sides. She had closed her eyes, and despite the fact that she was dictating his actions, he felt more in control than he ever had with her. It was hard to beat the thrill of a woman writhing in pleasure under his touch.
He looked at her pristine toes and did as she had asked, one toe at a time. He dipped his tongue between each one as he sucked, rubbing against the tender skin. Emma bared her teeth as if in pain and her whole body tensed. She held perfectly still, as if afraid that moving would stop what he was doing.
He would never have guessed her toes were an erogenous zone.
He did the last of her toes and set her foot down.
She rolled onto her stomach and he admired her rounded behind before she twisted and sat up, her back still to him. She peered over her shoulder at him. 'Finish undressing me.'
He put his hands on her hips and slid his palms up her sides, her T-shirt and hoody coming with them. She raised her arms as he moved upward, then detoured to her breasts, brushing his palms over the mounds pressing into the silky stretch material of her bra. He circled there until he felt her nipples hardening, making pebbles beneath the material.
He pulled her tops off and tossed them onto the floor, then turned his attention to her one remaining garment.
He cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking over their peaks, then slid his hands back toward her sides and forward again, this time his fingers inside the material. He ran her nipples between his fingers, pinching them gently, and leaned forward until his lips were just above the nape of her neck.
He could hear her breath from her parted lips, and he wanted to lay his mouth against her skin. He waited for her to ask him to, and when she didn't, that stretch of naked skin became twice the temptation. He raised his mouth beside her ear, knowing that she could feel the heat of his breath.
He gently withdrew his hands from her bra and unfastened it, easing the straps down over her shoulders and pulling her back against him as he skimmed over her breasts in a touch that was more tease than caress, taking the lingerie with him. It joined the rest of their clothes on the floor.
'Play with my breasts,' Emma said softly.
A command with which he was happy to comply. He held them tenderly in his palms and she rested her head against the crook of his neck and relaxed, her hands resting on his thighs. He could see down the slope of her chest to her breast in his hand. He gently squeezed, then massaged, watching as they changed shape under his touch, his excitement rising as he saw his hands on her nude breast, her nipple appearing between his fingers,
