Sweet Ache

“Hmm, so many things I want to do to you, Trixie.” I slide my eyes up and over her body, so many curves, so many places I want to get lost in. Leaning over, I place my hands on the back of the couch beside her head and dip down to taste that mouth of hers, the perfect combination of temptation and salvation in the simple meeting of our tongues.

Her eyes light up when she hears my comment and it’s such a turn-on how her mouth falls lax when I pull back and just stare at her. “Stand up,” I order and I see the slight hesitation in her movement before she slowly rises from the couch. The funny thing is that as much as I demand a woman give me the reins in bed, there’s something sexy as hell in the fact that she questions handing her control over to me. It’s as if she’s telling me I don’t need you, don’t have to do this to feel needed, but I want to.

And fuck if that wouldn’t bring this man to his knees.

Her hair falls down around her shoulders when I lift her shirt over her head. I lick my lips and slide my eyes over the lacy pink bra, my dick already stirring and ready for round two at just the thought of what’s hidden beneath. My fingers tickle over her stomach and push down her jeans, and I’m momentarily mesmerized by the matching panties underneath.

I lean into her so that I can unfasten her bra but I pull back just as she leans forward to kiss me. “Hmm,” I exclaim, part groan, part protest because I want her lips on mine more than anything … but I want her naked first. The straps fall from her arms to reveal those hard nipples begging me to graze my teeth over them.

“I think …” I say, stepping back and angling my head at her. “I think it’s time to test that rumor after all.”

Confusion darkens her golden eyes before recognition flashes in them when she sees me reach out and pick my old guitar up by the neck. Her lips tilt up in a dare of a smile as she steps into me, taking her own lead in this seductive game. “Tell me, rocker boy,” she says coyly, her tone breathless and her fingertip skimming up my chest, “is it true that you can you play this body like a guitar?”

Her fingers leave my skin and she palms her own breasts, thumbs rubbing over her nipples just like I want to, causing her head to fall back and a soft sigh to fall from her lips.

“I’m gonna bang you like a goddamn drum set if you keep that shit up,” I murmur as I use every ounce of restraint not to drag her to the floor and fuck her until we’re breathless and spent.

Her rasp of a laugh only challenges me further. “Arms out, Trixie,” I command, causing her head to snap forward to figure out what I’m going to do next.

She holds her arms out to her sides and doesn’t say a word when I stare at her body momentarily as I figure how to work this, before stepping forward. Screw it, never hurts to try new things.

I take the guitar and place it at her back much like I had earlier before the jam session except for this time, I plan on it staying in place on its own volition. I match the neck of the guitar to her outstretched arm before looping the strap around her biceps once. Next I run the strap under the swell of her tits, my mouth dipping to taste and flick my tongue over each nipple in the process. She hums in appreciation, her eyes brimming with desire when she realizes my intent after I repeat things, looping the strap around the other biceps before reattaching it to the guitar.

When I step back and look at her, trussed up on my favorite guitar, strap pushing her boobs up so that her nipples are begging for attention, I know that even though I may be the one playing her like a guitar tonight, she sure as hell is unknowingly playing with my heart by standing here so willing, so open, infiltrating every part of my life.

She’s such a sight standing before me, I can’t hold back any longer. I place my hands on the side of her face and brush my thumbs over her cheekbones before kissing her softly. Taking my time, I build up the kiss and the moment to try to curtail that constricting feeling in my chest as I try to accept truths about what I feel for her that I don’t want to face yet. I want to give her soft and gentle before I work her into the frenzy that’s coming.

I’m still moving too fast, and I want to draw this out so I drop to my knees in front of her, fingertips trailing up and down her outer thighs and then tracing the lacy edge of her panties. Goose bumps chase across her skin, visual proof of how much my touch affects her as I pull the fabric down, my lips grazing kisses here and there as I follow their descent.

“Hawke.” She moans my name softly in that please stop, please don’t stop tone that urges me on further.

There are so many things I want to say, so may things I want from her right now, but as hot as the idea of telling her them are—spread your legs more, get ready to come, how bad do you want me—I say none of them. Sometimes the use of touch to speak is all the words you need.

She gasps when she sees me take a guitar pick between my fingers and her reaction is music to my ears. I begin to trace lines very slowly up each inseam, my actions causing her to spread her legs for the access I need. She begins to writhe, pushing her hips toward my face in front of her as I reach the apex of her thighs.

I can’t resist. She’s just proven the chink in my armor of restraint because no man is going to forgo his mouth on a pussy when it’s being thrust into his face. So I give into her temptation. I move both picks to one hand while my other hand parts her slick lips. My tongue flicks out and hits her clit, moving over the bundle of nerves before sucking on it.

She moans my name into the silence of the room, and I love the sound almost as much as watching her squirm from the onslaught of sensations caused by my mouth. Keeping her sex spread apart with one hand, I use the other to take a guitar pick and slide it softly over her clit.