Chapter 27: Foreplay R18+
She pulled back half an inch. Her eyes were still closed.
"I’ve been wanting to do that properly," she murmured. "Since last night."
"Properly how?"
Her eyes opened. That deep blue. Up close they had flecks of something lighter near the pupil. Gray maybe. "Without crying. Without running away afterward."
Sean didn’t say anything. He just watched her.
Makima held his gaze for a beat longer, then leaned in again. This kiss was slower. More exploratory. Her tongue traced the edge of his lower lip and he opened for her and then they were kissing deeper, her breath warm and tasting faintly of the coffee she’d brought.
Her free hand came up to his chest. Palm flat against the thin fabric of his shirt. She pressed and he stepped back once.
Then again.
She was guiding him. Gently. Not pushing. Just suggesting direction.
His calves hit the edge of the bed and he stopped. She pulled back from the kiss and looked at him with something that was half smile and half question.
"The bed’s right there," she said.
"I noticed."
"Good." Her fingers found the hem of his shirt. "I don’t want to assume anything. Tell me if you want me to stop."
"I won’t," said Sean.
Something flickered in her expression. Relief maybe. Or excitement. Or both.
She lifted his shirt slowly. Not in a rush. Her knuckles brushed his stomach as the fabric rose and she watched her own hands like she was memorizing the motion. Sean raised his arms and she pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.
Then she stopped.
Looked at him.
Her palm settled flat on his chest, just below his collarbone. She could feel his heartbeat.
"You’re lean," she said quietly. Almost to herself. "I expected that but not quite like this."
Her hand moved down. Slowly. Across his sternum. Over the ridges of his stomach. She traced the line where his chest narrowed to his waist and then she stopped at the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Can I?" she said.
"Yeah."
She undid the drawstring with careful fingers. Tugged the pants down. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside and then he was standing in front of her in just his boxers and she was still fully dressed and the contrast made something in her eyes darken.
She reached for his jaw again. Pulled him into another kiss while her other hand pressed against him through the thin cotton. He was already hard. The heat of her palm made him twitch.
"Good," she breathed against his mouth. "That’s good."
Then she stepped back.
Her hands went to the buttons of her blouse. She undid them one at a time, watching him watch her. Not teasing. Just letting him see. The blouse fell open and she shrugged it off her shoulders and it joined his shirt on the floor.
Her bra was simple. Black. Practical. But the breasts it held were anything but practical. Full and high and pressing against the cups like they resented the fabric. The faint lines of stretch marks near the sides. Evidence of a body that had grown and changed and settled into itself completely.
Sean reached out. Ran his thumb along the edge of the bra strap where it met her shoulder.
"You can," she said. Meaning take it off. Meaning touch her. Meaning everything.
He unhooked it with one hand. She raised an eyebrow.
"Impressive," she said.
"I’m a quick learner."
The bra fell and her breasts settled with the release of tension. Heavy. Round. Her nipples were dark and already tight from the air or from him. Sean cupped one in his palm and she inhaled sharply through her nose.
"Your hands are warm," she said.
He ran his thumb over her nipple and she bit her lower lip. Her eyes stayed on his face.
"You’re watching me," he said.
"I want to see what you look like when you touch me."
He did it again. Slower. Her breath caught but she didn’t look away.
"You’re good at that," she said quietly.
"I haven’t done much yet."
"That’s why it’s good." Her voice was lower now. Rougher. "You’re not performing. You’re just doing what you want to do."
His other hand found her hip. Pulled her closer. Their bodies pressed together and she let out a small breath against his neck.
"Your trousers," he said.
"What about them?"
"They’re still on."
She laughed softly. Stepped back. Her hands went to her waistband and she undid the clasp and pushed the dark fabric down over her hips. The trousers pooled at her ankles and she stepped out of them gracefully. Her panties matched the bra. Simple. Black. They sat low on her hips and hugged the curve of her backside.
She stood in front of him in just those thin black panties and looked at him like she was waiting for something.
"You’re beautiful," said Sean. Not as a compliment. As an observation. Like commenting on the weather.
Makima blinked. For just a moment the composed thirty-two-year-old woman looked almost shy.
"You say that like it’s just a fact," she said.
"It is."
She closed the distance between them. Kissed him hard. Her body pressed against his, breasts flattening against his chest, her hands gripping his shoulders.
"Bed," she said against his mouth. "Now."
They moved together, still kissing, still touching. The back of her knees hit the mattress and she sat down and pulled him with her. He followed her down and then she was on her back and he was above her and she was looking up at him with those blue eyes that were doing too many things at once.
"Wait," she said.
He stopped immediately. Hovered above her.
She reached up and touched his face. "I just wanted to look at you for a second."
He let her.
Her thumb traced his cheekbone. The line of his jaw. "You really don’t seem eighteen," she murmured. "The way you look at me. It’s not how eighteen-year-olds look at women."
