Out On a Limb(9)

Bo moves to the foot of the bed, standing only in his black trousers. I watch as he takes off three rings without removing his eyes from my body. The rings clatter to the floor around his feet, but he doesn’t seem to care where they fall.

I rise onto my elbows, grinning in satisfaction at how Bo’s hair is already sticking up on all ends. It only gets messier as he rakes his hands through it again.

He’s losing his mind over me.

“Win,” he says, my name an anguished plea, shaking his head. “Fucking look at you.”

“Yes?” I ask, feigning innocence as my smirk only grows. I didn’t even say he couldn’t touch me or move closer, yet he’s distressed. He’s using all the self-control he has to make this last as long as we both want it to.

Admittedly, I love this feeling. The power I’ve harnessed while laid out on my back. The way my body can turn someone crazed. It’s the most in control I ever feel, next to being in the lifeguard tower on the beach.

He points at my knees with both hands. “Open those for me, honey.”

Honey? Hmm, I think I like it.

I dig my heels into the mattress, popping my knees up as I slide my legs apart.

“Like this?” I ask sweetly.

“Yes,” Bo answers, teeth bared around his knuckles. “Just like that,” he says slowly before flicking his hair out of his eyes.

I splay my fingers across the band of my tights around my waist and follow the side seam down to my hips. Then I trace a string cutting against the thickest part of my thigh. “Would you take these off?” I ask, toying with them.

Bo nods like a man possessed, bending over the bed to reach for my waist. He pulls the tights down in one strong, fluid motion until they’re off and resting over his shoulder. I thought that was an accident, and he’d soon discard them to the floor, but he’s keeping them close with a tight grip as he moves his opposite hand up the inside of my leg.

“Win,” he says, nearly whimpering. “Who are you?”

I’m more turned on than I have been in years, and the guy hasn’t even touched me yet. “Bo,” I whisper longingly, my hands clinging to the blanket underneath me.

What I want to say is stop caressing my leg and bring your hand, mouth, dick, or any part of you, closer. “Come here please,” I say instead, biting my bottom lip.

Bo walks around the bed, only giving up his hold of my tights when he sits to undress. Then he discards them to the floor.

I shuffle over to the right side of the bed as Bo undresses down to his boxer briefs. With his trousers and costume gone, I get a clearer view of his prosthetic leg. It looks more futuristic than I was expecting—metallic, with silver hinges and joints under a grey plastic socket.

Then I remember what he said downstairs about not having had sex since… since whatever happened. I want him to feel totally safe to choose what to do next, but this is uncharted territory for us both.

“You can take your prosthesis off or leave it on. Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” I offer, trying to keep my voice indifferent, making an effort to remain breathy so he doesn’t think I’m any less turned on than I was just moments ago.

Bo nods with his back to me before using his arms to help twist himself onto the bed. He lifts and adjusts until his back is straight against the headboard and both legs are out in front of him.

I waste no time getting back to it, moving my mouth from his bicep to the top of his shoulder and across. Once I lift my leg over his lap, straddling him once again, we come alive. The glorious sensation of nothing separating us but two thin, matching black layers of cotton is exhilarating.

“Call me honey again,” I say, grinding myself against his hardness.

“You liked that?” he muses, his voice cocky. “It sorta just slipped out.”

I don’t answer. Well, I do. Just not with words.

We fall back into kissing intuitively. Rough and greedy but coordinated—no bumping noses or awkward slips of tongue against teeth. Just two people winding themselves up higher and higher with the hope that we’ll eventually fall, crash, and burn.

I continue writhing against him, grateful that he doesn’t seem to be in too much of a rush. Dry humping is so underrated.

I’m starting to feel my body float away to that perfect edge when he reaches around my back and unclasps my bra. Two large hands find my tits immediately, playing with them until I’m gasping and moving for him like a puppet on his string. Bo drops his lips to my chest as I arch my back for him. He plucks my nipple between his thumb and finger before sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.

“Yes,” I hiss, my hips’ rhythm picking up speed.

Moaning around me, Bo splays his fingers across my lower back, pressing me into him with his mouth passing between my breasts greedily.

“Lift up,” he says, his voice forceful through his teeth, his hand placed at the base of my neck.

I go onto my knees without question, lifting off his lap. He smoothly guides himself down the mattress until he’s flat on his back, his face perfectly positioned between my thighs.

“Good,” he says, scratching my inner thigh with his stubble as he pulls my panties to the side with an unexpected roughness. “Now sit for me… honey.” He throws in the honey at the end like he’s trying to sweeten the deal. I needed no additional persuasion.