His fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear, which was every bit as sheer as my bra, so the white lace left very little to the imagination, revealing hints of my nether lips, teasing glimpses of the pink seam, the waxed plump lines pressing against the lace, which stuck damp to my skin, as desire seeped out of me.
I half expected him to rip the lace apart, and I’d have been pissed off if he had—this was one of my favorite sets, being that rare undergarment unicorn of comfortable and sexy.
Instead, he was gentle, almost delicate. Barely touching my skin as he slowly drew the lace down, stretching it over my hips and then dragging it down my thighs and to my feet. He cradled an ankle, lifted my foot, the other, and then plucked the panties away. I was naked, then, in a stranger’s home, a client’s home. Naked in front of a mirror that showed me from three angles, straight on and one side as well as the other.
Titus’s hands glided up my calves, caressed behind my knees. His eyes were fixed on mine, staring up at me from between the mounds of my breasts which swayed with my breathing. He sat back on his heels and let his gaze rake over me, now that I was fully nude.
“Good and holy goddamn, Laurel,” he breathed, and I couldn’t possibly mistake the awe in his voice. “You are too fucking perfect to be real.”
I laughed. “Liar. I appreciate the compliment, Titus, but I know for a fact you slept with Eliza Memphis, for one thing, and there’s no way I’m prettier than her.”
Eliza Memphis was one of the most sought-after women on the planet, who’d been featured in centerfolds of every magazine there was, and who’d starred in several very famous adult films before transitioning to mainstream acting, albeit still largely in roles which required little or no clothing; her body was also famously all-natural, and commonly referred to as the gold standard of female sexuality.
Titus’s eyes narrowed. “There’s one thing I do not ever fucking do, and that’s compare. Another thing I never ever fucking do is talk about anyone else I may have spent time with. You just did both.”
I frowned. “Um, sorry?”
His smile returned, hot and eager. “Just don’t do it again or I might have to punish you.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Not into that, sorry. Pretending that something I want you to do is a punishment is just stupid.”
“Who said you’d enjoy it?”
“If it’s something I won’t enjoy, why would I allow it?”
“Because you want me.” He stood up, naked, glorious, all hard muscle and masculine planes; he was not erect, but rather hung partially engorged, thick and long, but swaying and pointing downward. “You know I can make you feel good.”
“But you want me as much as you claim I want you. You’re going to deny yourself what you want...” I swiped a finger over my seam, ending at my clit, circling it once, gently, for his benefit, “this…just to punish me?”
He shrugged. “I have the discipline to do so, yes. I’d rather not, so maybe when I compliment you—and genuinely mean it, I should point out—just say thanks, and believe me, instead of playing coy bullshit games.” He closed in to tower over me, staring down at me, an arrogant smirk on his lips. “So, Laurel McGillis. Let’s try this again.”
I stood confident in my skin, desire making me bold. “Okay. Go for it.”
“Nope, you ruined my mojo.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t even remember what I was doing.”
I laughed. “What’s the matter, Titus? Drugs ruined your memory?”
He gave a derisive laugh. “Yeah, pretty much. I snorted away my short-term memory before I got sober. You’re gonna have to nurse me along so I don’t forget what I was doing.”
After Tommy’s death, he’d gotten sober and the only publicity he ever did was in support of sober living; his struggle had been with drugs, not alcohol, so he still drank, which caused a lot of talk in the various sobriety communities, but his point was that sobriety wasn’t necessarily an all or nothing prospect, but rather was personal and specific. He’d never had trouble stopping the drinking, whereas he’d only been able to cut off his cocaine usage after finding Tommy dead. He was famously open about his struggle and had recently gone so far as to be featured on a comedy roast, where his sobriety had been open for cheap potshots, with him laughing as loudly and genuinely as anyone else, and giving as good as he got.
My point being, joking about it wasn’t going to offend him.
“This is a weird hookup,” I said. “Stopping to talk before we’ve even gotten started.”
He shrugged. “Your own fault, babe. I’d be tongue deep in that pussy by now if you hadn’t said some dumb-ass shit.”
“So you do remember what you were about to do,” I said, smirking. “Caught you.”
He shrugged. “Hard to remember what I forgot.”
I laughed. “That makes no sense.” I reached for him. “Well, if you’re not going to get this show on the road, I will.”
I’d sworn off rock stars, after the incident with Jamison Flare. But…this was Titus Bright. And so far, his reputation was proving to be well-earned. Understated, if anything. The things he’d said…the way he’d looked at me. Touched me…I was willing to see this little tryst through, if only for the chance at an orgasm or two on the tongue of a man I’d…errr…daydreamed about, more than once.
He just grinned, lifted his chin even as his eyes flicked down to watch my hand clasp around his cock. “Be my guest.”
I turned him so I could watch us in profile in the straight-on mirror, so I could watch our reflection as I caressed his length. I felt him thicken in my hand, gently stroking him in slow, arrhythmic movements. I watched as he engorged in my hand, straightening to point away from his torso and then gradually lifting, tilting upward, upward, until he was standing vertical, straight against his belly, the tip of him just beneath his navel.
“There,” I said, letting go of him. “Now you’re ready to play.”
He brushed a thumb over my lips. “See, I was kinda hoping for something a little more than that.”
“Oh?” I couldn’t help but touch him; it was just such a beautiful, perfect cock, such heavy taut balls, such soft skin sheathing iron hardness. “And what would that be?”
His thumb tugged my lower lip down, and I played along, let him press his thumb over my lower teeth, slowly and gently but deliberately prying my mouth open. “This sassy mouth. I want to see if it feels as sweet wrapped around my cock as it tastes when I kiss it.”
“I see.” I caressed his sac, playing with the heavy delicate skin and the globes within. “I might need some incentive to do that, though. I don’t much care for the taste of penis, you see. It has to be worth my while.”
“You haven’t tasted mine,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.” His thumb ran over my chin, and then his fingertips trailed down my breastbone, pausing to feather over my right nipple, tweaking it; I gasped involuntarily—I wasn’t about to say so, but my nipples were highly, intensely sensitive and one of my most erogenous zones. “How about I give you a little preview of how I’ll make it worth your while? Just so you know I’m…generous. That I’m devoted to making sure you have as much fun as I do, you might say.”