Page 36 of More Than Water
“Only if you’re going to get kinky with me.”
“Are you into that sort of thing?”
“Not ice. That shit’s cold.”
Foster drops us to the bed, half-falling on top of me with a mistimed and misjudged thump.
“No ice,” he confirms, righting himself a bit. “Got it.”
He removes his black frames, and I grab them from his hand before he has a chance to stash them away. I settle them over my face. The prescription on the lenses is so minor that my already drunken vision is barely distorted.
“Do I look smarter?” I ask, playfully pointing my index finger to my cheek.
“Definitely.”
Ducking his head, Foster connects his lips to the skin on my neck and then the space under my chin while slipping his hand under my blouse and over my bra-covered breast. I fumble with the hem of his shirt tucked into his pants. Then, I pull his clothing upward, and like a total amateur, I manage to get it stuck around his neck. He lets out a half-gagging, half-choking sound before rescuing me from my sloppy seductive efforts by removing the layer of fabric himself.
My hands are like magnets being drawn to his firm chest, and they connect with his comforting skin.
Skin. Skin. Skin.
Warm skin.
Toned.
Fucking sexy-as-hell and all-over-me skin.
I-want-to-feel-more-of-it skin.
My mouth runs along his collarbone.
He tastes good, too—a combination of man and mint.
Foster lifts my top over my head before dropping it to the bed, and then he reaches behind my back. I sit up to assist him in the effort of de-clothing me. He tugs at the hooks on my bra a few times.
“Fucking girl clothes,” he says, flustered, yanking at the force field of intimate apparel. “These damn hooks.”
“You can formulate a hydrogen bomb, but you can’t undo a bra?”
“The university doesn’t offer classes on this shit.”
“I’ll complain to the dean.”
The garment finally unhinges, and my breasts are freed. With apparent frustration, Foster removes the bra from my body in one fell swoop and then cups one breast with his palm while mouthing the other. He tweaks a nipple with his fingers and nibbles gently on the other with his teeth as we slowly lower back to the mattress.
I arch my back, encouraging him to keep fondling me the way he is, becausefuck methe feel of his body touching mine is giving me incredibly salacious ideas. And I genuinely don’t care if what we’re doing is wrong because I’m adopting a new rule until morning. If it feels good, it is good.
My hands skim and press along his lean arms and firm back as he continues to suck and lick my chest. Reaching his waistband, I follow the line of denim to the front of his pants and attempt to undo the button.
“Need help?” he asks, kissing his way up to my ear.
“Yes. Your pants are like a chastity belt. Are you trying to keep me out?”
Foster laughs against my cheek and snakes an arm between us, popping open the button. I unzip his pants and grip his length under his boxer shorts. He growls into my ear, andholy fuck, does that ever make me want to pump his dick.
So, I do.
What is he doing to me? Foster Blake, the library and chemistry geek?