One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(49)
“Come on, girl,” she coos, running back and forth in demonstration. When Brandy joins in, leaping over the sprinkler in time with her, Cecelia’s melodic laughter crashes into my chest, further widening the crack she’s managed to create.
Disgusted that I’m inching toward creeper status after watching one too many passes, the half of my face covered in mentholated shaving cream begins to burn. Ripping my eyes away from her, I make my way back upstairs. Patting my face down with a damp towel a few minutes later, I spot the summer of my discontent staring back at my reflection.
“Hi,” she whispers, her eyes rolling appreciatively down my frame.
Hi?
Hi?
I narrow my return gaze on her.
If this is hard-up, I’m not going through it alone.
Turning, I grip her wrist, yanking her into the bathroom. Palming the wall next to her head, I crowd her as I trace the droplets of water skating down her glowing skin. Her eyes search mine for a reason for my aggression, but my cock lets her know as it salutes her and remains at attention—pointing straight at her. When she opens her mouth to speak, I press my finger against her lips as Sean cranks the mower outside. Her chest rises and falls as I lower my gaze to her pink-painted toes while deciding my course of action.
Gripping her shoulders, I position her in front of the toilet before shutting the lid and taking a seat. Draping the damp towel over my lap, I gather the rest of my supplies from the counter. Flicking on the faucet to refresh the water, I plug it before switching it off and lifting her foot, resting it on my knee. Wordless, Cecelia rattles in anticipation in front of me while I dispense some shaving cream into my hand.
Palm full, I slowly begin to cover every inch of her leg and thigh as I speak. “It takes an average of twenty minutes to ready a woman to the point of orgasm.” Scraping the blade from her ankle up to her calf, I swish it in the sink and tap it twice before running it from above her knee to her thigh. A harsh exhale escapes her as I look up to see her dark blues hooding.
Once I’ve made a few passes, I swish the razor through before again tapping away any lingering excess.
Swish. Tap. Tap.
“Unfortunately, for women, twenty minutes of stamina is pretty average for a man, which would make our creator seem like one cruel motherfucker,” I scrape another path up the length of her leg, “if said creator hadn’t given us ways to remedy that. You see . . .,” I glide the razor along the ridge of her leg, “what most men don’t know—or give a damn enough to know—is that said creator did give us a number of efficient ways to get a woman where she needs to be. In fact, there are thirty ways . . . or more, depending on the woman.”
Swish. Tap. Tap.
Knowing I have her undivided attention, I glance up and can’t help smirking at the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Should we try a few of them out?”
She nods half a dozen times as I resume.
“It’s sad, really, that most men think of a tight fit as a reward, and for some, it’s inevitable due to the size and girth of the male anatomy, but not all are as blessed as others.” My own blessing agrees with a jerk as I make it a point to exhale along her freshly shaved skin, and goosebumps erupt. “But considering what a woman’s anatomy is capable of, a tight fit is often a sign that the prep work wasn’t done properly.”
Swish. Tap. Tap.
“There’s the inner thigh,” I scrape the razor up to the top of her thigh as she palms my shoulders to steady herself. “This crease at the top of it,” I run my thumb along the sensitive skin just below her bikini bottom from her ass cheek to her hip as her soft pants begin to fill the bathroom. “The armpit.”
Swish. Tap. Tap.
“There’s the ears, the stomach, and the hands.” Pausing the razor, I lift one of the hands resting on my shoulder and pinch her pressure point as I gently brush my lips along the entirety of her palm, including the pads of each finger. She exhales my name as I draw the towel from my lap and pat away the excess cream. Brushing the tips of each pinky along her newly sensitive skin as I towel her off, her eyes close when the first moan escapes her.
“Such a beautiful, sunny day,” I remind her of her fucking rules. Rules that hinder me from acting on any scenario in which my throbbing dick gains access to the heaven lingering inches from my face. Rules I respect and will continue to, but hate at the moment. She runs a hand through my hair as I turn her palm up, licking slowly along her wrist, catching her speeding pulse beating against my tongue.
“Then there’s the crook of the arm.” I demonstrate by sinking my teeth into the skin opposite her elbow, which earns me a more drawn-out moan.
Noted.
Bringing her other foot into my lap, I glance up to see the lust in her eyes. Her plump lips part as I tamp down the demand raging in my boxers.
“The bottom of the foot.” Roughly, I run my thumb along the arch. “The Achilles tendon,” I squeeze the back of her heel before moving up, pinching the tendon between my fingers as her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Between the toes,” I whisper heatedly, painstakingly brushing a finger between the soft pads of her grass-covered toes.
“The inside of the ankle.” Bending as I lift hers, I run my tongue along the outer bone to the inside before clamping down and sucking lightly. This has my name whispered with more urgency from her lips.