“You’re the one that got the fist to the face,” she says and then stops, apparently having realized what I meant. “Oh,” she smiles.
My hand already on her leg, I start rubbing her thigh. She takes my other hand and puts it on the bag of corn, freeing both of her hands as she leans forward, and tilting h
er head far to the right, she leans in and kisses me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” I tell her. “It’s not your fault. Like you said, it just is what it is.”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
I take the bag of corn from my eye and set it on the table, taking a quick glance at her skirt so I can plan the best possible approach.
“Lean back,” I tell her, and she scoots her butt forward on the chair and reclines a little.
My hands come to her knees and I work my way under the fabric and up her legs, coming out of my chair and getting to my knees in the process.
I lift her skirt a little and kiss her knees, the start of her thigh. My hands move up her legs and around back down again, and I lift my arms a little to raise the fabric enough to kiss her thighs, and I start to work my way up.
Her skirt bunches as I slip it up toward her waist, exposing her smooth legs and the black tanga she’s wearing under the dress.
With one hand, she’s running her fingernails over my back, and those fingers curl into me as I part her legs and kiss the area around her pussy. She takes a sharp breath when my lips meet her clit.
It’s hard to tell why, but there’s something a little extra erotic about going down on her in the kitchen, moving her skirt instead of removing it.
I guide my tongue over her nub and inch a finger inside of her wetness.
She groans softly in pleasure as I just revel in her taste.
“You’re really good at that, you know,” she says, with hardly any voice to her breath at all.
I would answer, but I’m a little busy at the moment.
Sure, I’m the one that got punched in the face, but big picture, I think with everything she’s been through today and the last couple of months with Ben and then with her father showing up, she’s earned a little relief.
That’s not to say that I’m getting nothing out of this; quite the contrary. As I move my tongue over her clit and finger her hot, wet center, I don’t know that I’ve ever been this turned on in my life.
The skirt is partially over my head as I adore Emma’s body, but she pulls it up the rest of the way, opening the space between her eyes and mine.
“I want you inside me,” she says, “but don’t take any clothes off. I’m really loving this whole clothed thing. I’ve never actually had sex with clothes on.”
I chuckle and tease her, saying, “Prude.”
“What?” she asks through heavy breath. “I’m a prude because I’ve only had sex naked?” she asks.
“Ironically,” I answer, “yes,” and I laugh.
“Whatever,” she says. “Now stick that fucking thing in me before I change my mind.”
I laugh, but I lift my head, though I keep my finger inside her, stirring her soft insides.
As I lean back, she leans forward and stands. I stand to meet her.
Our arms are around each other and I’m kissing her neck as she pulls down my zipper, and she moans a little as my finger is still inside her.
She slowly backs toward her countertop and, when we get to it, she hops onto it.
With the front of my pants open, she pulls me out from inside and casually pulls me by the cock, closer to her waiting slit. I move between her legs and right up to her and she’s rubbing my tip against her clit and she’s saying, “Don’t move—oh my God.”