Isn't She Lovely
Page 49

Stephanie pulls back just enough to smile shyly at me. “I wouldn’t mind if you broke it.”
I close my eyes for a second and pray that I’m not dreaming. Her mouth is on mine again, and she rocks her hips against mine. Nope. Definitely not dreaming.
Even though I have permission, I’m determined not to rush her, and I let my fingers continue their playing, alternating between rubbing the backs of my fingers against the skin of her shoulder and plucking at the strap, torturing us both.
I release her lips long enough to slide my mouth down to join my fingers, licking and nibbling at her collarbone, her shoulder, before I let my mouth brush against the swell of the top of her breast.
We’re not even close to the good stuff, and yet we both groan, her back arching into me as she offers her br**sts up to my hands, to my mouth. I hook the fingers of both hands under those tiny straps and slowly ease them down her shoulders, exposing her br**sts inch by creamy inch until I’m one tiny tug away from exposing her ni**les.
I stop then, moving my hands down to her waist, leaving her arms semi-pinned by her tank top as I ravage the top of her br**sts with sweet kisses. I’ve known from day one that she’s beautiful, but this is beyond any fantasy I’d ever had of her. And I’ve had more than a few.
I suck and lave her skin until we’re both panting and her fingers are in my hair urging me forward. Urging me down.
I let my tongue snake beneath the thin fabric, coming so close to her nipple but not quite, and she cries out. I do the same thing on the other side, refusing to give her what she wants until she asks for it.
“Ethan,” she says, her voice little more than a breath. “Ethan.”
It’s enough for me.
I tug the tank top down to her waist, and she’s fully exposed to me. As soon as the cool air hits her ni**les, she lifts her hands to cover herself, and the sight of her tiny hands on her not-tiny boobs has me wanting to explode.
“Don’t,” I say hoarsely. “Let me see. Let me touch.”
Her eyes are wide and scared, and I simply meet her gaze, asking her to trust me.
Finally she gives a small nod, moving her hands to my shoulders. I move slowly, giving her time to back away. But she doesn’t, and when my tongue makes that first pass over her nipple, I think it’s going to kill both of us.
I lose track of how long I tease, giving her long licks alternating with playful pecks until she’s writhing in my lap, panting for more. Only then do I wrap my mouth around her and suckle, breathing in the sweet smell that is Stephanie while I feast on the part of her anatomy that’s been haunting me every goddamned day.
Her hands are doing some wandering of their own, and until I feel her tugging at my undershirt I scarcely notice that she’s discarded my tie and unbuttoned my dress shirt. Giving the tip of her breast one last long lick, I move my hands to her waist, setting her back on the couch long enough for me to remove my shirt. Her tank top is still around her waist, and the sight of her topless paired with those camouflage pants is so ridiculously sexy I almost wish she’d kept the boots on.
Maybe next time.
She smiles at me, and I smile back before pushing her farther into the couch cushions and following her down. We kiss again as our hands continue to explore, and finally—finally—I move my hands down to the waistband of her pants.
I undo the first button before she freezes.
I freeze too. “Is this okay?” I ask softly, trailing kisses over her chest.
She doesn’t say anything, and I pull back to look at her face, keeping my hands lightly stroking her arms, her sides … trying to figure her out.
She licks her lips. “I, um … I want to, I do. It’s just …”
I give her a quick kiss for encouragement. “Yeah?”
“I don’t have a lot of experience with this.”
I give her a little smile. “I’m oddly pleased to hear that.” And I am. I like the idea of Stephanie being … mine.
“You want to talk numbers?” I say teasingly, even though I’m half dying.
She licks her lips but doesn’t answer, and I realize I need to tell her that I’m not exactly experienced myself. It’s humiliating to admit, but I don’t have a lot of notches in my own belt. Olivia and I lost it to each other when we were sixteen. And unlike Olivia, I believe in fidelity.
“Well, is it less than one?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “Because that’s about the extent of my experience.”
She doesn’t answer, and the uneasiness doesn’t leave her face. Which doesn’t make sense, unless …
Holy hell.
“Stephanie, are you a virgin?” I say it as casually as possible, letting her know that either answer is okay.
Her eyes don’t meet mine, and I put a finger under her chin to force her to look at me. “What about David?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Never got that far.”
A little alarm bell is going off in my head. “What about the guy from high school? You said you guys were good before he …”
There it is. The terrified-rabbit look.
My hands still for a second in rage before I gather her toward me.
“Stephanie, that night when the bastard put something in your drink … was that your first time?”
Please say no. Please tell me the bastard didn’t rape you.
I’m so prepared for a black-or-white answer that it doesn’t occur to me that there’s a potential gray zone.