She smiled at him slowly. “Not at all.”
Her leggings clung to her thighs faithfully, and she peeled them down inch by inch, either because she was congenitally fucking slow or because she was taunting him. Probably the latter.
When she stood again, he kept his eyes on hers. “You don’t have to get completely naked, Wren.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, and then her bra was on the couch, and her cotton panties were on the floor, and she was standing there completely naked as he choked on his own tongue and began coughing.
She was the Venus of Willendorf, only with smaller, lovely breasts.
She was unabashedly round everywhere else. Her belly especially, but her arms and legs too, and her wonderful, flagrantly large ass. She was composed of curves. She was glorious.
And she was laughing at him. Loudly.
She didn’t bother hiding her face, and it was even better than her usual laugh, because he got to see her joy. Her pride in his reaction.
Her flush had spread down to her breasts, and although her hands twitched when his eyes ventured there, she didn’t cover herself.
“I thought—” He coughed again, attempting to recover his stolen breath. “I thought you were shy, you infernal woman.”
A dismissive flick of her wrist. “Cautious isn’t the same thing as shy.”
“No.” He huffed out a laugh. “Evidently not.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact. “Even though I don’t have a ton of sexual experience, I’m not ashamed of my body. It may not be conventionally beautiful, but it’s strong. It’s mine. And it’s obvious you want it”—she directed her gaze at his rampant cock, still pushing futilely at the material of his boxer briefs—“so what would be the point of hiding?”
“I love your body.” He couldn’t put it more plainly than that. “I’m fucking obsessed with it.”
His poor, beleaguered brain couldn’t determine his favorite view. That bountiful ass, or the tempting puff of brown curls atop her sex, or the subtle curves of her breasts, or—
“In that case …” She held out her hand, her eyes warm and happy. “Let’s see who makes the most noise.”
He held up a finger. “One last thing.”
Stripping off his boxer briefs without ceremony, he straightened for her perusal. Turnabout, etc., etc.
Her harsh intake of breath was pure flattery. He drew his shoulders back and preened. And she’d said she wasn’t shy, so he slid a hand down his belly and gave his poor, aching cock the firm stroke it needed.
When she bit her lip, he grinned. “Now I’m ready.”
He intertwined his fingers with hers, and together they ventured out onto the balcony, removed the tub’s cover, and began filling it with water. The night had turned invitingly cool, and he tugged her against him while they waited, naked body to naked body at last, and ran his hands over her back and down her pliant arms.
It was like hugging the softest, warmest, most erection-inducing pillow ever. But Jesus, she was so short. The curls between her thighs tickled his leg, and her breasts nudged against his belly, and there was no way they’d ever have upright sex.
There were benefits to her lack of height, though, as he discovered almost immediately.
When she spoke, her breath wafted over his nipple, and he shuddered. “If I pull you down to kiss you, are you going to bitch about your neck and back?”
“Yes,” he said. “Do it anyway.”
He obligingly bent low, and unlike their first, desperate kiss the previous night, this one was unhurried. A kiss to court her pleasure, rather than stake a claim.
Her lips weren’t especially plump, but they were so very sensitive. When he took the lower one between his and sucked lightly, she swayed against him, her thighs parting against his leg. When he gently nipped, she made a rough sound in her throat and arched her back against his hand. When he flicked his tongue against the seam of her mouth, she gasped, and he took advantage.
Her mouth was slick and hot, her own tongue a sliding tease, and he skimmed his hands down—and down farther, because holy shit, she was a goddamn shrimp-woman—to her ass. The skin there was satiny and giving, cool until his palms warmed her.
At his silent urging, the press of his hands, she was almost straddling his leg, and there—oh, there, she wasn’t cool at all. The heat fucking seared him.
She wrenched her mouth away, breathing hard. “The tub.”
Oh. He’d forgotten about that, what with his whole Wren-is-naked-and-hot-and-kissing-me-thank-fucking-Christ preoccupation.