The walls were alive with shifting green shadows from sunlight sifting through oak and maple leaves. She longed for the cover of dusk, or night, but no. It was all going to be so visible. So terribly deliberate.
She gave him a questioning look. “Next tip?”
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
She giggled nervously as she began, but she put her brave and brazen all into it. Kicking off her sandals. Peeling off her top. She stretched and preened as she pulled pins out of her hair and tossed them to the floor. The tinkle as they fell was loud in the green, flickering silence.
He watched her uncoil the long, twisted tail of red hair, shake it down into loose waves over her shoulder, her breasts. She began to circle him, and he followed her with his eyes. The movement felt ancient. A ceremony, a spiral dance, an invitation. Entwining their male and female energies into pure magic.
“The skirt,” he reminded her. “Lose the skirt.”
She loosened the drawstring and let the skirt drop. Naked, but for Lucia’s little necklace with the emerald V that she never took off.
She scooped her hair up over her head, arching her back, tossing her hair. Turning, in front of the raw hunger in his beautiful silver eyes. Not a nervous thought for her itty-bitty boobs, or her not-so-little ass, or her in-your-face tattoos. Flaunting herself. Sure that she would please him.
“Now my clothes,” he told her, kicking off his sandals.
Wow. Even his feet were sexy, and she’d never given a thought to feet before, as long as they smelled okay. His were beautiful; long and brown, with graceful toes, square nails, elegant bones.
She attacked his clothes. A goofy grin wasn’t the right heavy-eyed, sensual temptress expression she’d wanted to assume for the occassion, but she was having too much fun to pretend to act serious.
She peeled his T-shirt off inch by inch, taking the opportunity to explore his torso with her fingertips. Feeling the grain of his hair, those lean, cut muscles. Every detail sumptuously lickable.
She flung the shirt away and attacked his belt, but as she started to shove his jeans down, he stilled her hand, dug into his pocket, and fished out a string of condoms. A long string. He flung them onto the futon.
Ah. Well and good that he was prepared, but the calculated gesture struck her as a provocation. He shoved his jeans and briefs down and stepped out of them, naked, kicking them away.
He was perfect. His huge cock thrust out, thick and high, bobbing with its own swollen weight. “Touch me,” he ordered.
Her hands rejoiced as they closed around that velvety supple skin, vital pulsing heat, steely hardness. More than filling her hand.
She loved his gasps as she stroked, pulled him. It made her feel like a goddess for real, like she was handling storm clouds, thunderbolts. Fearlessly playing with devastating power as if it were her own personal toy.
“I know this thing of me leading started out as a precaution to keep me from freaking out on you,” she commented, breathlessly. “But it’s changed. It’s turned into a kinky power game.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But if a woman as proud and strong as you plays along with my kinky power game without telling me to fuck off, it means she really wants me, right?”
She swirled her hands around his cockhead, making him gasp. “It turns you on,” she challenged. “Telling me what to do. Admit it.”
He grinned, busted. “Everything about you turns me on.”
“You think you’re so smart, huh?” she teased him.
He gave her a quick, rueful smile. “Not at the moment.”
“I know your tricks,” she said breathlessly. “You’re showing how completely you’re in control of the situation, right?”
His eyes went thoughtful. “No,” he corrected. “I’m showing you how completely I’m in control of myself. I think you need to be reminded.” He gathered up a hank of her hair, bent low and kissed it, with that lovely, secret smile glowing in his eyes.
He was so sweet, it made tears well up in her eyes, for no reason that she could understand. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said, her voice wondering. “You have a split personality, Jack. Either you say the exact wrong thing that makes me want to smack you, or you say the exact right thing.”
“Yeah?” he prompted. “Which makes you want to…?”
“Um, grab you,” she said primly.
His grin flashed. “Go for it. I love how you grab me.”
She took him at his word, caressing him with slow, sensual pulls. His hands clenched, flexed, trembled. “So I never say anything simple and neutral, like please pass the peas?”
“We haven’t gotten that far in our relationship,” she told him.
And we never will. According to you.
She shoved the bleak thought away. She would not let anything screw this up. Not her fears, not Brian fallout. Not even the plain truth.
To hell with the plain truth. Who needed it. Live the fantasy.
She decided it was time to change the vibe, distract them both. She knelt down and unzipped her bright purple down sleeping bag with the lavender nylon lining, spread it out over the futon mattress.
She curled up, tits stuck out, hair wild and frowsy, and looked up seductively through her eyelashes at him. “So?”
He sank down, his face still cautious. “Do you need to be on top?”
She thought about it for a moment. “I’m shaking too hard,” she confessed. “I don’t think I’d even be able to stay upright. I’m melting.”
He looked worried. “But I’m big. I wouldn’t want you to—”
“Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t flip out on you. I know where I am, and whom I’m with.”
He smiled, cautiously relieved. “You’re sure?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she assured him. “And I love it that you’re big. Bring it on.” She swirled her hand over his cockhead.
His face and neck went rigid. “Oh, God,” he muttered. “You’re laying all the responsibility on me, huh?”
“You can take it,” she informed him cheerfully. “I have faith.”
He put his hand on her belly, stroking her with a light hand. As if she were some delicate, exotic creature that he didn’t want to frighten.
She stared at his hand, blinking at another rush of tears. Moved by how worried he was. How tender and gentle. Why, that big, yummy, succulent sweetheart. And he needed to get on with it. Like, now.
She grabbed his hand that petted her and gave it a yank. “Get down here,” she ordered him. “I want to feel you. On top. All over me.”
He allowed himself to be dragged down on top of her. Vivi opened her legs and tried to jerk him closer, but he pulled away.
“Hold on,” He groped for the condoms. “Let me deal with practical details before I lose my mind.”
He fumbled the latex on one-handed, and finally, she managed to pull him down on top of her. She twined her arms and legs around him and squeezed. The sweet shock of his hot body against hers opened the leaky tear faucet again, and off she went.
Jack looked into her wet eyes, alarmed. “Viv? Are you okay?”
“Fine, great, fabulous,” she assured him. “You just feel wonderful. It makes me weepy, but don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”
He stared into her face, speechless, his eyes soft, and kissed the tears away from her cheekbones her temples. Oh, Lord. He felt so good. Her hands were going crazy with so much to choose from: his thick shoulders; his powerful back; his taut, muscular ass; that dark, shaggy mane of silky hair tickling her neck. The urgent prod of his cock against her thigh. He wasn’t hurrying her, but she could feel it, throbbing there, hopeful and eager, while he kissed her neck, her breasts. Caressing her between her legs, spreading her lube all around to ease his way. The wild fluttering anticipation kept rising. This was really happening. Now.
He lifted his head, unexpectedly and gave her his now familiar master-and-commander stare. “Tell me what you want me to do.”