Shane
“For what?”
Shane clucked, as if this woman still didn’t really understand just how much she’d just rocked his safe, boring little world. As if she didn’t realize that, for Shane anyway, there was no going back to how things used to be. Not for him, and he desperately hoped, not for Tatum as well.
“Damn, girl, for just about everything, I reckon.” As if for emphasis, Shane reached down and cupped the closest cheek of her ripe, curvy rump and squeezed it tenderly.
She wriggled against him, all sensual curves and ripe, sticky angles, each one of them clinging to him urgently as their sweat and other juices comingled, like the frantic beating of their pounding little hearts. She nuzzled her face in his neck, warm breath swirling across his shoulder blade as she murmured, “You don’t have to thank me for something I’ve wanted to do since I saw you in the locker room that day, Shane.”
“You too?” He chuckled, relief flooding his body as if to replace all the built-up desire she’d just drained from him, body, mind, and soul. “I thought, that day, there was no way in hell this sexy, sophisticated grown-ass woman is going to fall for little old me.”
“Sophisticated?” She let out of a gruff little grunt, nudging him with the swell of her hip where it met his own. “Hard to feel sophisticated when you’re sneaking into a dorm room to entice some innocent little country boy into doing the wickedest of things, Shane.”
“I’m not so innocent, girl, remember?” He nudged her back, her heat enveloping him like a cloud he couldn’t escape from, even if he tried. And why the hell would he try? “And there’s a lot more wicked coming your way, so rest up.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” she murmured, breath like a tongue against the small of his throat. He’d never realized what a tender, titillating body part that could be until her breath washed over it like a smooth, silent caress. “Besides, you already fulfilled your part of the deal, remember?”
He squeezed her ass for emphasis, earning an urgent little grunt of appreciation from her mouth, so close to his ear she could have stuck her tongue in it if she’d wanted. “What, a few orgasms ain’t nothing between friends, Tatum. Besides, that was just my fingers. The real fireworks come, so to speak, when my tongue gets involved.”
She recoiled playfully, dragging her sticky body away from his as she placed her hands, palms flat, against his chest. “You keep that tongue away from me, Shane Dixon,” she pretended to protest, even as her ripe, pert breasts heaved and her tongue licked her lips, perhaps subconsciously. Then she gave him a wink and wriggled playfully to her feet, extending both hands to his as their eyes met expectantly. “At least, until after a quick catnap while we both, uh, reload.”
He nodded, body weary even as she helped drag him up off the couch and to his feet. He glanced quietly up at her, then down, admiring the way she’d kept her heels on even as she’d serviced him with that devilish tongue and wicked mouth between his eagerly spread thighs. “Now, doesn’t that just say about all of it?” he remarked, kicking up one heel to reveal the stripes of his socks, gathered baggily around his ankle.
“What says what?”
“You, in your fancy heels and me still in my grubby tube socks.”
She squeezed his hand, and one by one, kicked off her heels until they stood (practically) face to face. Dutifully, he reached down and tugged off his socks, wagging them playfully as she rolled her eyes. “This okay, or is me going barefoot going to turn you off?”
“Believe me when I tell you, Shane Dixon, there’s not a thing you could do to turn me off right now.”
She tugged his hand, playfully dragging him toward the hallway. “Which one is yours?” she asked as they faced the two bedrooms at the end.
He chuckled, nodding toward the door on the right. “The one without the old beer keg for a nightstand, obviously.”
They chuckled, tumbling into his bed, all warm, sticky limbs and shy, dancing eyes. “You’re in luck,” he teased, wriggling against her as she lay flat on her back and ripe as a peach about to be plucked. “I haven’t washed my sheets all week.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to him, a gentle hand caressing his cheek. “You’re in luck, too, Horn Dog.”
“Luckier than you in my bed?”
“Sure, Shane. Look outside … we’ve still got plenty of daylight left for you to watch me make you the happiest jock at Sycamore State.”
“Good,” he murmured. He wriggled into her arms as dreariness robbed the best of his humor, but promised to revive him in more ways than one. “Then you can watch me turn your pussy into a lollipop and suck it ‘til the sun sets.”
She murmured naughtily, as did he, enduring a gentle slap against his chest as she murmured, “Now how am I supposed to sleep with that image rolling around in my head?”