Foreman was starting to answer Amber's thrusts, raising his hips each time Amber brought hers down. Both his hands were on her ass now, making sure the peak of each repetition brought both of them the most pleasure. Amber was so fucking wet, her gasps rising in frequency and pitch, her movements growing stronger and sharper--God, he could make her come this way, and they'd barely even started, and that turned him on so much. Foreman's mouth had fallen open, his breathing louder and harsher as his dick hardened. He wanted to say something, tell Amber how hot she was, but at the same time, it was almost like they'd agreed on silence, because words only got in the way.
When Amber spoke, it was nearly a surprise to hear his own name whispered in the dark. The way they'd been going so far, he'd expected this to be quieter. Their slower, deeper movements, yeah, but more than that, talking less. They'd been pretty loud in the living room. God, everything Amber had said had turned him on so much, even when he'd already come. Just the sound of her voice, her nearly obscene encouragements, telling him down to the instant what she wanted from him. So fucking hot. It had been so good, but this way had its benefits, too. Speaking with their bodies, telling each other how good it was without even a word. And hearing Amber's question, Foreman had so many questions--would she stop him halfway through? Would she leave him with a hard-on for the second night in a row? Foreman wanted to be patient, wanted not to care about that; he'd be a real bastard if he thought he was entitled to sex or to getting off with anything but his own hand. But Christ, if Amber got scared off every time, he'd stop offering, and respond less readily when she asked.
Without seeing her face, he couldn't know what it meant--if the break in her voice had simply meant that she'd found the perfect angle for a moment, or if it was something deeper, some hesitation. Foreman didn't even know if he could ask if she was sure without screwing this up. But she'd asked, and fuck, he wanted to. He wanted to prove it was nothing to be afraid of, that--like their first night--he could make it amazing, even if she had doubts. "Yeah," he whispered. He lifted a hand to cover hers on his cheek, squeezing her palm. One arm around Amber's back, Foreman shifted underneath her, until he could roll them back over, as gently as he could, not landing on her with his full weight. He supported himself on his knees and his forearms, and dropped a kiss on her lips, or as close as he could manage without seeing her. "Talk to me," he murmured. How she'd take that, he had no idea--to order him around, maybe, but mostly he wanted her to feel free to make him stop, if she wanted.
Kneeling between Amber's thighs, Foreman nudged up the hem of her sweatshirt with his fingertips and bent to kiss her stomach. He could smell her, and God, he could bury himself in that scent, taste every inch of her. Soon, but not too fast. Not too much. He ran his palms down Amber's legs, firmly, massaging her quads, while letting his mouth roam lightly down her abdomen until he reached her pubic hair. He paused to pant, close his eyes and breathe her in. He kissed her inner thigh, and, at last, moved closer. His lips were wet instantly, the thick, slippery taste of her strong in his mouth. Foreman licked his way up her labia, until his tongue found her clit. Yeah. Oh yeah. He went softly, tracing his tongue firm and slow over her clit, trying so damn hard not to overwhelm her, and still make her feel everything he could give her.
no subject
When Amber spoke, it was nearly a surprise to hear his own name whispered in the dark. The way they'd been going so far, he'd expected this to be quieter. Their slower, deeper movements, yeah, but more than that, talking less. They'd been pretty loud in the living room. God, everything Amber had said had turned him on so much, even when he'd already come. Just the sound of her voice, her nearly obscene encouragements, telling him down to the instant what she wanted from him. So fucking hot. It had been so good, but this way had its benefits, too. Speaking with their bodies, telling each other how good it was without even a word. And hearing Amber's question, Foreman had so many questions--would she stop him halfway through? Would she leave him with a hard-on for the second night in a row? Foreman wanted to be patient, wanted not to care about that; he'd be a real bastard if he thought he was entitled to sex or to getting off with anything but his own hand. But Christ, if Amber got scared off every time, he'd stop offering, and respond less readily when she asked.
Without seeing her face, he couldn't know what it meant--if the break in her voice had simply meant that she'd found the perfect angle for a moment, or if it was something deeper, some hesitation. Foreman didn't even know if he could ask if she was sure without screwing this up. But she'd asked, and fuck, he wanted to. He wanted to prove it was nothing to be afraid of, that--like their first night--he could make it amazing, even if she had doubts. "Yeah," he whispered. He lifted a hand to cover hers on his cheek, squeezing her palm. One arm around Amber's back, Foreman shifted underneath her, until he could roll them back over, as gently as he could, not landing on her with his full weight. He supported himself on his knees and his forearms, and dropped a kiss on her lips, or as close as he could manage without seeing her. "Talk to me," he murmured. How she'd take that, he had no idea--to order him around, maybe, but mostly he wanted her to feel free to make him stop, if she wanted.
Kneeling between Amber's thighs, Foreman nudged up the hem of her sweatshirt with his fingertips and bent to kiss her stomach. He could smell her, and God, he could bury himself in that scent, taste every inch of her. Soon, but not too fast. Not too much. He ran his palms down Amber's legs, firmly, massaging her quads, while letting his mouth roam lightly down her abdomen until he reached her pubic hair. He paused to pant, close his eyes and breathe her in. He kissed her inner thigh, and, at last, moved closer. His lips were wet instantly, the thick, slippery taste of her strong in his mouth. Foreman licked his way up her labia, until his tongue found her clit. Yeah. Oh yeah. He went softly, tracing his tongue firm and slow over her clit, trying so damn hard not to overwhelm her, and still make her feel everything he could give her.