Post Eight: Only Wanting
- Britany le Fay
- Apr 27, 2016
- 2 min read
Morgan
She was excited. I could tell that much. Maybe a little nervous. Hell, I was nervous too. I watched her in the elevator mirror as she bit her lip to stop from moaning when I kissed her neck.
I took note of that.
I was so hard, I felt like I was going to burst. Everything took it's sweet time. The cabbie, the lift. Everything. Then we were there. My moment was here, and we were opening my hotel room door. I didn't have time to worry if it was a mess or not. I didn't really care at this point.
The anticipation hadn't subsided, there was no awkwardness. Only wanting.
When we got in, she kissed me, backing up towards the bed. She moved her hands down to the bottom of her dress, lifting it slightly. Then she stopped, stepping away from me. She moved her mouth to the side, in a cute sort of thinking way. As if she was deciding whether or not she should say something.
“What is it?” I asked, hearing my own voice for the first time in the last fifteen or so minutes. I sounded out of breath, although I didn't feel it.
She looked at me for a second, cocking her head to the side. Still deciding, perhaps?
“My dress,” she finally choked out, “it's quite tight actually...sort of hard to get off by myself. There's no zipper.”
“Oh...um...” I looked her over, the top part of it was quite tight on her.
“I need you to pull it off, but you might have to kind of yank it a bit. Don't worry though, I've done it before.”
She began pulling the dress up part way, and I followed her hands, taking their place. I lifted the dress up more, trying to be careful. But it wouldn’t budge. She was right. You had to yank it. Not a very practical thing, for a situation like this. Though she did look quite stunning in it. I must have pulled on it for quite awhile before it finally popped off. Leaving a slight tearing noise in it's wake.
“Sorry,” I said, staring at her.
“It's okay, I know how to sew,” she reassured me, leaning up to kiss me again.
It wasn't me tearing her dress that had caught me though. It was her breasts. They were fucking perfect. Quite a good size for such a tiny girl. Round, full, perky. I pulled away from her to look at them again. Little pink nipples that you just had to put your mouth around.
I knelt down put my face in her chest, and she put her hands through my hair again.
“You're perfect,” I murmured. I began kissing her all over, moving my tongue around her left nipple. Then I started to suck, playing with it in my mouth.
She giggled, pulling her body away.
“Sorry, they're really sensitive,” she told me, looking down and smiling.
I needed her. Oh God, did I need her.
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