Shane
“Nice place you have here...”
Tatum stood just inside the doorway, looking radiant in the sunlight drifting in through the sliding glass doors across the shotgun-skinny living room. “Quit teasin’, girl,” he growled playfully, standing in the small but tidy kitchen.
“I’m not. This … this is nothing like any dorm room I’ve ever seen before.”
“No? It’s the only one I’ve ever seen, so…” He swung open the fridge, eager to raid Boomer’s illicit beer stash, bought using his older brother’s fake ID. The two beers he grabbed clinked in his fingers, the only sound in the quiet dorm room.
“Guess you athletes really do rate, after all.”
Shane inched closer to her, heart pounding through his sweaty t-shirt. “I don’t go in for all that,” he insisted, handing her one of the beers.
She took it with a widening smile. “You should. You earned it. Not every guy can play college ball, Shane. It’s a real accomplishment, that. Own it.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Not every gal can be a big-time college reporter, Tatum.”
She blushed, pushing her glasses up her nose in a one-two punch of nervous displays. He wondered, idly, where else she was blushing. Wondered, too, what that blush might feel like, the heat and desire searing his fingertips the closer he drew near to her ripe, blushing sex. “The only thing I’m proud of about this job, Shane, is being here with you. Right here. Right now.”
“And after?”
She cocked her head curiously. “After what?”
His smile was sly and slick. “After we help each other with our little problems? After the story breaks? After we don’t have an official reason to be around each other anymore, what then?”
She lifted her beer to her lips. Ripe and plump and full lips, just begging to be kissed and so much more. “Not sure,” she murmured, about to take a sip.
“Uh-huh…” He stopped her with an almost urgent grunt.
“What?”
He gave her a friendly grin. “Toast first, duh.”
She chuckled nervously, a rush of chuffing air. “Duh. Here’s to new friends, I guess?”
“Friends with benefits?” He took a sip, as if to confirm the negotiation without actually negotiating.
She did, too, swallowing hard as they stood half inside the small foyer and kitchen, close enough to smell her distinct perfume, and more than that, the telltale fragrance of ripe, rich feminine desire he knew so well from all those late-night fumbles with his girl back home. “I’d like to be your friend, Shane.”
“Too late, girl. You already were the minute I met you.”
She smiled, setting down her beer on the nearby kitchen counter. He noticed. Frowned. “You don’t like it? I know it’s cheap, but…”
She shrugged, shoulders bare save for the soft, maroon straps of her clingy dress. “I just don’t need it. I’m drunk enough, just standing here waiting for you to make your move.”
He gulped, nearly spitting out his beer. “Sorry, I just … I’m nervous, is all.”
“You don’t think I am?”
“You? Why would you be?”
“Shane, I just strutted past dozens of horny student athletes in this slip of a dress, in the middle of the day, following you like some Neanderthal slut back to your cave and now you ask why I’m nervous?”
“But you’re here. For an interview. For pictures. I’ll tell them that.”
“It’s too late now, Shane. And I don’t care. About any of that. I’m here because I want to be. I didn’t dress sexy because you told me to on some sticky note. I want this, wanted this from the minute my editor passed me your glamour shot in her office and I saw those cute little dimples and that smooth, innocent look in your eyes. I’m nervous because this means a lot to me and I’m not sure it does to you.”
“Tatum, you’re the first woman I’m going to be with since my ex. And only the second woman I’ve ever been with, ever. You don’t think this means the world to me?”
She reached out then, a trembling hand to gently caress his blushing cheek. The single touch electrified him in places he thought long dead, or at least achingly dormant. “If it means so much to you, Big Boy, why don’t you reach out and … do something about it?”
Shane chuckled, rolling his eyes and shaking
his head so that her hand slipped away. He reached out, his own
hands trembling as they clasped either side of her stylish glasses.
“If you insist…” he teased, sliding them off the way he’d imagined
doing four thousand times since they’d first met.
She blinked eagerly, nodding as he removed the glasses altogether.
“Oh, but I do…”
He folded them carefully, painfully aware she was watching his every move and standing on pins and needles with anticipation. Like a careful driver slowing down when he knows he’s being tailgated, Shane slid the glasses slowly atop the kitchen counter and inched even closer, hands rising again before pausing just shy of her shoulders.
“Turn around,” he ordered, voice sounding far more confident than he felt.
“Oh, damn,” Tatum blurted, eyes as wide as her eagerly parted lips. “Don’t mind if I do…”
She turned then, as slowly as he’d approached, until her sleek black ponytail bobbed and danced across her bare shoulders. She had a small scrunchie, burgundy to match her dress, keeping it in place, and gently, as if caressing her arm or perhaps even her thigh, he slid it down the length of her hair until it came free. She shook her head instinctively, hair spilling across those same bare shoulders and then down, coming to rest slightly between her shoulder blades. He smoothed it out with his fingers, earning a shiver and a murmur from Tatum as he stalled for time, letting his heart pound into submission and his fingers slowly stop trembling.
When they finally did, he ran gentle fingertips along the space between where her hair ended and the back of her dress began, the zipper maroon to match the silken material that hugged her like a second skin. She spoke not a word, as if the time for teasing and tempting was long since over. He honored the pledge, reaching for the zipper, and with a gentle tug, easing it a slow inch down.
A soft, low purr seemed to escape her lips as if involuntarily, to match the way her body squirmed beneath the slightest touch. He inched the zipper down a little lower, until a soft spray of tan line appeared, faded but distinct against her smooth, supple skin.
It was such an exotic sensation, to be so free to do as he wished, here in his own domain. Tatum appeared as willing as he felt, the sun streaming through every open window and illuminating them both in its soft, white light. No more darkness here, he thought, growing harder than ever in his straining shorts. The zipper inched lower, another murmur slithered from between Tatum’s eager lips as her quivering body responded with uncontrollable glee.
The dress gave with every fresh pull of the zipper, looser than he’d imagined and revealing that, just like the day before, she hadn’t been wearing a bra. “Funny,” he observed, favoring her bare shoulder with a soft, tender kiss, her skin savory with perfume and the first hint of sweat. “This dress isn’t too tight, and yet no bra?”
“Haven’t we already established that I’m a brazen hussy by now, you big fat tease you?” she murmured. She wriggled so that his fingers slid the zipper the rest of the way down, until it rested just above the small of her back.
He abandoned the zipper after that, a hand on either side of her small, shivering waist. The material of the dress was silken, if not silk itself. He ran his hands up her side, hearing her moan, feeling her tremble, knowing that this was all part of it. He sensed how utterly sopping wet she’d be when he finally got between her legs, how willing and easy it would be to bring her to climax, again and again. Until then, he pledged to tempt her to within an inch of her life.
He abandoned her shivering sides and slid one hand alongside either arm, caressing her taut forearm until he smoothed his palms over her trembling shoulders. He could smell her, ripe and fragrant, the room filling with the obvious scent of her rippled desire. With a thumb hooked under each, he carefully, tenderly, and so very slowly slid the straps of her dress down and over each arm.
She made a soft, wilting “unnhhh” sound and shivered from top to bottom. Despite being clingy, or perhaps because it was, the dress slid tenderly away from her body and down, then over her hips, until it slithered to the floor and wrapped around her feet like a woolen blanket.
Though he desperately wanted to turn her around and paw at every inch of her tender breasts and sopping pussy, Shane savored her backside instead, finding just as many pleasures to tempt and tease beneath his roving fingertips. Her shoulder blades were stiff and firm beneath them, her rib cage slightly more yielding as she no longer struggled to hide her desperate moans or wriggling ass. He slithered his fingers down her sides so lightly he could feel every undercurrent of electricity sizzling beneath the gooseflesh that had risen to her young, supple skin.
At last he palmed her ripe, firm ass, finding her fleshy cheeks more than each handful could bear, and hardly believing he was holding them after so much desperate hoping and wishing and wanting. They were warm, so warm, and smoother than the silken dress she’d worn to the batting cage that afternoon.
“No panties, either?” He squeezed on each syllable, until his fingertips dug into her bountiful flesh and he could feel the heat simmering between her legs as he dragged each flank gently apart as if to emphasize her raw, utter bareness.
She merely shook her head, black hair rasping across her bare shoulders. “Why ruin them?” she croaked at last, brazen and fearless. “Like the pair I wore yesterday?”
His eyes widened at the thought of their little “interview” making her so wet and wanton, even while still out in public, so to speak. “I made you that wet, girl?” He knew she liked his Southern accent, and laid it on nice and thick as he continued to paw and knead at her trembling ass cheeks, knowing the tender pressure he applied behind her would sizzle and slither its way to the front as well.
She nodded once more. “And now?” he asked, leaning forward to nuzzle her shoulder with a soft, tender nibble that hinted at the primal need lurking just beneath his tender, wanting lips.
“Fuck yes,” she gushed, nodding even as he bit into her soft, yielding flesh at last. Her voice was barely above a whisper, perhaps even a moan, as she gushed quietly, if urgently, “Fuck! Yes!”
He stood back, reluctant to release her but so desperate to see her face he’d do anything, even stop squeezing those hot ass cheeks of hers and biting down on her raw, naked shoulder, to make it so.
“Turn around,” he whispered, if only to avoid the sound of his voice surely cracking as his shuddering nerves got the best of him. “Let me see how wet your pussy is.”
“Jesus,” she gushed, gently stepping out of her dress and turning slowly. The sound of her half-heels clattered on the stylish hardwood floor beneath them. “You always talk this dirty, country boy?”
“I don’t always do anything, city girl,” he teased. He admired her small, boyish breasts in profile, the way the ripe, round areolas covered half of them and the nipples stood at attention, hard enough to cut diamonds. “This is my first time seeing some sweet young thing in the light of day, remember?”
“Lucky me,” she murmured, standing to face him and even taller than usual in her sexy heels. And only her sexy heels. He liked that, his lover naked and wet in just her heels, even if he did have to glance slightly up to peer into her wicked, sexy green eyes.
Shane ran his eyes over every inch of her body, skin flushed with perspiration and every inch of her standing at rapt, eager attention. “Naw, girl.” He clutched her throat gently, if only to feel her pounding pulse and hear the gasp of surprise from somewhere deep, secret and hidden inside. “I’m the luckiest son of bitch on this campus right now.”
Her eyes begged his for confirmation, smiling when she got it in the unblinking honesty and raw, naked desire that gazed back at her. His hand drifted away from her throat, the other joining it to cup and palm both tender, boyish breasts the way he’d been aching to do the minute he saw them, pressed and tender against her mustard-yellow sweater the day before.
Unlike her ripe derriere, his palms were more than enough to cover and blanket her upturned breasts, doing so eagerly, all while gliding those pebbly nipples between his greedy fingers, twirling and tweaking as if picking a lock. Her knees buckled slightly, a trembling hand reaching out to steady herself on the kitchen counter as he continued to tease and tempt and savor each breast in turn, so ripe and yielding to his eager touch.
“Is this how you want it?” she purred, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, her breath raw and nagged against his cheek. “Me standing like this?”
He turned his head slightly, covering her lips with his own as they kissed for the first time, soft and wet and sloppy and silken against one another’s desperate, eager mouths.
“I want you just like this,” he explained. His right hand drifted from her breast to trickle down her body until it slid across the silken landing strip of carefully tended black pubes that crested her swollen clit like a sidewalk abruptly coming to an end in the middle of a grassy wet field. “I want you here, in the sunlight, so I can see every inch of you when you come. I want you standing until you’ve come so many times you can’t stand anymore. And then I’ll make you come one last time, until I have to carry you to the couch and lay you down so I can study every inch of that body until you pass out from my touch.”
She stammered. She swallowed. She blinked. Twice. And then she muttered, gaily, happily, almost shyly, “Oh. Oh, my.”
He nibbled her lower lip in reply, admiring the way she enjoyed a little pain with her pleasure and watching her face carefully, as at last, two expert fingers slid lovingly across her throbbing clit. She gasped, eyes widening, mouth parting, as the same fingers danced away to trace every crease and wrinkle of her slippery sex.
Her moan was raw and primal, pure lust, deep and unrecognizable as she gently spread her legs to give him more access to her yielding sex, her puffy labia clinging to his fingers as if they were as desperate for his touch as the rest of her trembling, naked body.
“Yes, Jesus,” she murmured. He gently guided her a mere step or two back until her shoulders rested against the closed door. “God, it’s never felt this good.”
Shane’s fingertips danced along the ridges of her lust, circling back until they applied the slightest hint of pressure against her swollen bud. It responded with a seismic tremor, as he knew it would, throbbing and warm against his pressing fingertips as they applied just enough pressure to tease, but not quite enough to please. Not. Quite. Yet.
When she grunted, they quickly danced away, off for another leisurely stroll around, and then gently inside her yielding sex. Then another press, another tease, another slither and squeeze, until Tatum panted and moaned and begged him to stop.
“No, baby, that feels too good. I don’t want it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to,” he insisted, unrelenting in his gradual but eventual drive toward her ultimate and inevitable satisfaction. This wasn’t an if for her, this was a when. And for once, he was utterly, purely, and eagerly in control. “We’ve got all night here alone, just you and me. And I don’t plan on sleeping a wink, do you?”
“I may not have a choice if you keep doing that down there, you big, sexy jerk!” She pretended to slap his shoulder but clung to him instead, first one hand, then the next, digging into his biceps on either side of him as if struggling to stay afloat in a sea of unquenchable desire.
“Let yourself have this,” he cooed and murmured between peppering her gasping lips with swollen kisses that only helped to rob Tatum of the last shreds of her resolve, to say nothing of her quickening breath. “You’ve waited so long for release, I’ll give you as much as you want, as long as you can take it, if you’ll only let me.”
“I want to, baby,” she murmured breathlessly, “but it feels so good, I don’t want it to stop…”
He chuckled against her throat, bearing down as she seized and bucked with the prelude to her building lust. Shane knew that feeling, knew it all too well, and welcomed it with open arms. Or, at the very least, two very hot, wet, and sticky fingers!
“That’s right, baby, come for me…” He slithered and slid until the sound of his fingertips, damp and sticky, rivaled her panting grunts and guttural moans. He felt her resolve weaken with every press against her throbbing clit, every rasp and pull just inside of her weeping volcanic heat. He used every drop of desire clinging to her glistening labia to slather her with affection, heat, and pressure until, mouth gasping against his own, body quaking beneath his touch, Tatum gasped, bucked, and came—came at last—in a gush of heat and desire.
The door behind her rocked with the seismic waves of her orgasm. Make that her first orgasm, shuddering as if someone was trying to get in. But it was only Tatum’s pent-up desire, aching to burst out. It did, and then some, heat bathing his patient fingers as they waited for the waves of desire to crash and then fizzle before dancing, ever so lightly, back across the scene of the crime yet again.
Tatum bucked anew, shivering with the aftershocks that crested over the new waves of enticement, until they blended and crashed one against the other, making her cries indistinguishable from her gasps, her wails no different than her moans of pure, animal pleasure.
When at last she’d had enough, sweating from every pore, black hair sticking to her trembling shoulders, nipples taut enough to burst, and her swollen sex leaking over his patiently wriggling fingers, she clamped her thighs shut tight and met his eyes with determination he’d yet to see in her thus far. “No. More!”
They chuckled, throatily, until their lips found each other and silenced the laughter with murmurs and gratitude and so much more.