My fingers land at the waistband of her tight fucking jeans and reach in to tug her shirt out. I instantly squeeze the taper of her waist, her smooth warm skin, noting the strap of whatever sexy fucking panties she’s wearing coming up over her hip in the most alluring way.
And then, I’m pushing the white shirt up over her head, wanting it off as quickly as possible. Wanting to see what she’s hiding underneath this well put together exterior.
Her arms raise, and as the shirt clears her head, my hat topples to the ground at her feet. But I leave it there, just to take in Summer propped against the door, wild hair, chest heaving, full breasts pushed up high in the red lace bra. Straps of matching lace panties wedged up high over her jeans.
She looks a little unsteady and a lot desperate. Totally disheveled.
And I love this look on her.
I crouch quickly to swipe the hat and the can before replacing the hat on her head. My hat. I groan and shut my eyes at the fucking wet dream before me.
“You should see yourself right now.” Her teeth dig into her puffy bottom lip, really completing the whole look. “So fucking pretty.”
“Please, don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Just admiring the view.”
“Lose the shirt.”
I chuckle. “There she is. My bossy girl.” I step closer, crowding her against the door. “You want it off, do it yourself.”
An expression of defiance flashes across her face, but within moments, she relents. Her small hands reach for the buttons of my shirt, and she nimbly works the first couple through the holes.
When she peeks up at me with that little smirk on her lips, I know she’s about to pull something naughty. She grips my shirt and rips. Buttons fly all around us.
She seems amused until I yank her bra down, the sound of lace ripping loud in the quiet room.
“Hey!” she starts, but her bare tits are exposed right in front of me. All soft and full, nipples hard as rocks. The neon lights from the shitty bar across the street cast a blue glow in the room that adds to her ethereal beauty. Even the scar down the center of her chest suits her. A battle scar. A testament to how hard she’s fought. How fucking strong she is.
I’m absolutely starstruck.
“That bra was La Perla. You owe m—”
I shut her up by spraying a circle of whipped cream over her right nipple. Instead of reaming me out, she swaps to moaning and running her hands through my hair when I drop my head and suck her breast into my mouth, taking a long pull.
Her chest arches into me as I lick the whipped cream from her body. A milk product has never tasted so good. I can feel the gooseflesh of her skin against my lips, and once I’ve cleaned her off, I graze her nipple with my teeth.
“Mm,” I murmur, slightly leaning back to admire the way her breast glistens before reaching behind her and removing the torn bra entirely.
She watches, speechless.
I go for the other nipple, covering it in cream, pausing for a moment to appreciate how she looks all scandalized and painted with sugary cream.
It’s giving me the filthiest ideas. Ideas I let play through my mind as I drop my head again and take my time cleaning her off while she moans and writhes.
When I straighten and drop the can on the floor, I cup her breasts and grin down at her.
“I thought you hated milk?” she huffs out, all glassy eyed and eager.
“I’m developing a taste for it.” I growl as I lift her up, pressing her into the door and kissing her again. Her legs wrap around my waist, squeezing my hips as she sears me with a kiss, my hat toppling off her head to our feet.
All I can taste is whipped cream and cherries, and all I can smell is her.
All I want is her.
Which is how I find myself carrying her across the blue-lit hotel room with long sure strides, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder—because who needs a fucking shoulder with a girl like this?—and tossing her down on the bed, her dark hair shimmering out around her, like rays of sunshine off her sweet, freckled face.
We pause for a second, her splayed out across my bed while I stand entranced between her knees. This is the moment where we fully consider if we’re about to do this.
“Do you want me, Princess?” I ask as I tug a boot off each of her feet.
Her lips part, and she stares back at me when I drop them on the floor with a heavy thud. “Yes.”
I reach down and unbutton her jeans, stepping away only to drag them down her legs. “Why?”
“Because . . .”
I discard them and stare down at her, panties wedged high, showing the outline of her pussy. I groan. That paired with the knee-high socks she’s wearing and her tits on display could make me blow on the spot. Paint her with something else entirely.