“Cute bra,” he said, watching over her shoulder as his finger traced the lace that bordered a plaid pattern.
“It doesn't match my panties,” she said. “I figured I should warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“That it doesn't match.”
He chuckled. “Why would I care if your bra matches your panties?”
“That’s not sexy either. I didn't think about dressing appropriately for outside the club. I didn't bring a little black dress on the trip, or anything to wear but my business attire, because I don’t own anything but what I wear to work. I simply don't remember how to be sexy for a man.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows furled in a most adorable way. “Or maybe I never knew how.” She ducked her head, and he understood how she was feeling. He never felt confident in his sex appeal either. He was good at pretending, because women responded to a man with self-confidence, even if it was the biggest load of bullshit anyone ever laid on them.
“Caitlyn.”
When she kept her eyes downcast, he circled her body to stand before her. After a moment, he tucked a finger under her chin to force her to look him in the eye. She flushed when their eyes met, but held his gaze.
“What's truly sexy about a woman isn't what she wears. It isn't how much time and attention she spends on her hair. It's not that her bra matches her panties. It's the way she thinks, moves, speaks. That's what's sexy about a woman.”
He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't buying his lines.
“And why did you pick me at the club?” she asked. “It wasn't because you knew I could think, you had seen how I move, and I hadn't spoken yet.”
“Damn, woman, I'm not used to talking to women as smart as you are. You're supposed to be happy that I want you for more than your fantastic body.”
“But I don't think you're being sincere.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “I don't know.”
“What do I have to do to prove that I'm sincere? As soon as you stepped out of the dressing room at the club wearing that horrible jacket—”
“See, my jacket is horrible.”
“Let me finish. When I saw you wearing it, I was instantly hard again. I insist that you wear that horrible jacket as much as possible.”
She glanced at the discarded garment on the sofa. “Should I put it back on?”
He chuckled. “No. I like when you wear it in public, not when you’re alone with me. What's so hot about it is that it completely conceals what's beneath. Yet I know what's there. Those guys looking for a woman in a short skirt and tight sweater, they're not giving you a second glance because they're too blind to see how smoking hot you are. I mean look at yourself, Caitlyn. You're a ten.” His gaze traveled down her body, and he made a sound of desperation. “An eleven.”
“Takes one to know one.” She chuckled. “Though I think you're overstating your interest.”
He shook his head at her. Words didn't seem to work with the woman—she'd apparently been lied to one too many times—so maybe actions would do the trick. She squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up over his shoulder. He took several long strides toward the bed and tossed her on the mattress.
“Show me that you want me,” she said, her eyes riveted to his crotch.
“If I let it loose, I'm going to have to f**k you with it.” He ran his hand over the hard ridge in his pants and sucked a pained breath through his teeth. “And I haven't tasted you yet.”
He reached for the button of her jeans and unfastened it. He couldn't wait to see her naked again. To smell her. Taste her. Touch her. He unzipped her pants and then tugged them down her legs. Her sensible loafers caught in her pant legs and joined her pants on the floor.
He stopped to check her out. When she'd said her panties didn't match her bra, she hadn't been joking. Her bra was black with plaid sections at the bottom of each cup. Her panties were a lurid fuchsia and decorated with a fluffy sheep. He smiled, but didn't laugh. He doubted a man had ever seen her wear that sheep, and maybe she didn't believe the privilege of being with her turned him on, but his twitching c**k demanded to be pressed against those sweet panties.
“Owen?”
He unfastened his slacks and tugged his c**k free. He ran his hand down its rigid length, pausing when his thumb pressed against his piercing. He rubbed the hard ball against the rim of his c**k head, twitching as the pleasure registered.
“I want to come all over your sweet, little panties, Caitlyn,” Owen said. “I want to make them dirty. I want to make you dirty.”
“Yes, Owen,” she whispered. “Make me dirty.”
He leaned over her, supporting his body weight with one hand on the mattress beside her. He used his other hand to rub himself against those ridiculous panties that had him all worked up.
“Your clothes need to go,” she said. “I want to look at you.”
When he didn’t comply with her wishes immediately, she reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, shoving the fabric from his shoulders and caressing his chest with both palms.
“Every inch of you is perfect,” she whispered, and then she looked down to where he was introducing his c**k to her sheep—well, the one on her underwear. Her fingertip brushed his c**k head, and ripples of pleasure coursed down his length and settled at the base of his spine. “Especially this inch.”
“Inch?” he said defensively.
“Oh baby, your entire c**k is massive and gorgeous, but that last inch, with this little treasure?” She flicked one end of his barbell stud. “That’s the best inch of all.”
He chuckled. She’d become enamored of his modification quickly, and it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Owen did enjoy turning a good girl bad.
“On second thought, I’d rather get those pretty, pink panties dirty with your cum instead of mine,” he said.
“Huh?”
He dropped to his knees on the floor, grabbed her by the hips and pulled her pu**y to his face. He used his lips, tongue, and teeth to work her lips and clit through her panties. The taste of cotton overpowered her sweetness, but he’d be damned if the smell of her excitement seeping through wasn’t completely worth the unusual mix of flavors.
“Owen!” she gasped. Her fingers twined in his hair, and she pulled him against her. “Yes, yes,” she crooned as she approached her peak.
Her panties were completely drenched within seconds. Some was the moisture from his mouth, but most was her juices. He used his tongue to press the fabric against her opening.
“It doesn't match my panties,” she said. “I figured I should warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“That it doesn't match.”
He chuckled. “Why would I care if your bra matches your panties?”
“That’s not sexy either. I didn't think about dressing appropriately for outside the club. I didn't bring a little black dress on the trip, or anything to wear but my business attire, because I don’t own anything but what I wear to work. I simply don't remember how to be sexy for a man.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows furled in a most adorable way. “Or maybe I never knew how.” She ducked her head, and he understood how she was feeling. He never felt confident in his sex appeal either. He was good at pretending, because women responded to a man with self-confidence, even if it was the biggest load of bullshit anyone ever laid on them.
“Caitlyn.”
When she kept her eyes downcast, he circled her body to stand before her. After a moment, he tucked a finger under her chin to force her to look him in the eye. She flushed when their eyes met, but held his gaze.
“What's truly sexy about a woman isn't what she wears. It isn't how much time and attention she spends on her hair. It's not that her bra matches her panties. It's the way she thinks, moves, speaks. That's what's sexy about a woman.”
He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't buying his lines.
“And why did you pick me at the club?” she asked. “It wasn't because you knew I could think, you had seen how I move, and I hadn't spoken yet.”
“Damn, woman, I'm not used to talking to women as smart as you are. You're supposed to be happy that I want you for more than your fantastic body.”
“But I don't think you're being sincere.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “I don't know.”
“What do I have to do to prove that I'm sincere? As soon as you stepped out of the dressing room at the club wearing that horrible jacket—”
“See, my jacket is horrible.”
“Let me finish. When I saw you wearing it, I was instantly hard again. I insist that you wear that horrible jacket as much as possible.”
She glanced at the discarded garment on the sofa. “Should I put it back on?”
He chuckled. “No. I like when you wear it in public, not when you’re alone with me. What's so hot about it is that it completely conceals what's beneath. Yet I know what's there. Those guys looking for a woman in a short skirt and tight sweater, they're not giving you a second glance because they're too blind to see how smoking hot you are. I mean look at yourself, Caitlyn. You're a ten.” His gaze traveled down her body, and he made a sound of desperation. “An eleven.”
“Takes one to know one.” She chuckled. “Though I think you're overstating your interest.”
He shook his head at her. Words didn't seem to work with the woman—she'd apparently been lied to one too many times—so maybe actions would do the trick. She squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up over his shoulder. He took several long strides toward the bed and tossed her on the mattress.
“Show me that you want me,” she said, her eyes riveted to his crotch.
“If I let it loose, I'm going to have to f**k you with it.” He ran his hand over the hard ridge in his pants and sucked a pained breath through his teeth. “And I haven't tasted you yet.”
He reached for the button of her jeans and unfastened it. He couldn't wait to see her naked again. To smell her. Taste her. Touch her. He unzipped her pants and then tugged them down her legs. Her sensible loafers caught in her pant legs and joined her pants on the floor.
He stopped to check her out. When she'd said her panties didn't match her bra, she hadn't been joking. Her bra was black with plaid sections at the bottom of each cup. Her panties were a lurid fuchsia and decorated with a fluffy sheep. He smiled, but didn't laugh. He doubted a man had ever seen her wear that sheep, and maybe she didn't believe the privilege of being with her turned him on, but his twitching c**k demanded to be pressed against those sweet panties.
“Owen?”
He unfastened his slacks and tugged his c**k free. He ran his hand down its rigid length, pausing when his thumb pressed against his piercing. He rubbed the hard ball against the rim of his c**k head, twitching as the pleasure registered.
“I want to come all over your sweet, little panties, Caitlyn,” Owen said. “I want to make them dirty. I want to make you dirty.”
“Yes, Owen,” she whispered. “Make me dirty.”
He leaned over her, supporting his body weight with one hand on the mattress beside her. He used his other hand to rub himself against those ridiculous panties that had him all worked up.
“Your clothes need to go,” she said. “I want to look at you.”
When he didn’t comply with her wishes immediately, she reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, shoving the fabric from his shoulders and caressing his chest with both palms.
“Every inch of you is perfect,” she whispered, and then she looked down to where he was introducing his c**k to her sheep—well, the one on her underwear. Her fingertip brushed his c**k head, and ripples of pleasure coursed down his length and settled at the base of his spine. “Especially this inch.”
“Inch?” he said defensively.
“Oh baby, your entire c**k is massive and gorgeous, but that last inch, with this little treasure?” She flicked one end of his barbell stud. “That’s the best inch of all.”
He chuckled. She’d become enamored of his modification quickly, and it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Owen did enjoy turning a good girl bad.
“On second thought, I’d rather get those pretty, pink panties dirty with your cum instead of mine,” he said.
“Huh?”
He dropped to his knees on the floor, grabbed her by the hips and pulled her pu**y to his face. He used his lips, tongue, and teeth to work her lips and clit through her panties. The taste of cotton overpowered her sweetness, but he’d be damned if the smell of her excitement seeping through wasn’t completely worth the unusual mix of flavors.
“Owen!” she gasped. Her fingers twined in his hair, and she pulled him against her. “Yes, yes,” she crooned as she approached her peak.
Her panties were completely drenched within seconds. Some was the moisture from his mouth, but most was her juices. He used his tongue to press the fabric against her opening.
