I perk up instantly. Not only does that sound cool and refreshing, but it sounds like fun. Hot, playful fun.
“You’re on,” I say, coming to my feet. “You two coming?” I ask Cami.
She looks at Trick and grins. “Yeah, I think we will.”
“We will?” he asks.
“If you want to see me in anything less than what I’m wearing right now, then yes, we will.”
“I’m in,” Trick replies enthusiastically. We all laugh.
The four of us strike out across the yard, bathed in warm breezes and pale moonlight. It already looks like the perfect night for a naughty tryst, which will make it that much harder not to…indulge. But I think Cami’s right. I think maybe this will be a good way to make Rusty see what he’s missing out on. Maybe he’ll realize he doesn’t want to be without me. It’s worth a try anyway. Rusty’s worth a lot of tries.
We drop into single file formation as we trek through the woods. I’ve heard Cami talk about the pond on their property and how much she and Trick love to visit it, but I’ve never been. When the trees part to reveal an oval clearing dominated by a sparkling fresh-water pond and absolute silence, I can see why it’s a favorite of theirs. It would be a favorite of mine, too.
Trick and Cami drift off to one side. I can barely make out their whispers and Cami’s giggles from where I’m standing. It’s just enough privacy for everyone without there being…trouble.
When I feel a palm brush my butt and Rusty appears at my side, I quit thinking of anyone except him.
“Need some help with these?” Rusty asks, trailing his hand over my hip as he walks around in front of me.
“I think I just might. This zipper can be awfully hateful,” I say with mock seriousness.
“Mmm, I figured as much,” he says, stepping in close to me again. I can feel warmth radiating from his body as though there’s nothing between us at all—no clothes, no air, no emotional separation. Just… heat. “But we’d better start with your shirt. I don’t want to get tangled up in it as I’m working on that faulty zipper.” His eyes appear black in the low light, his dilated pupils overwhelming the azure of his irises.
“I’ll trust your judgment,” I reply, my heart already racing.
“Lift your arms,” he commands quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.
Obediently, I lift my arms over my head and I wait. Rusty watches me for several seconds before he presses his palms to my waist and slides them slowly upward, caressing my rib cage, thumbs teasing my ni**les as he drags up the material of my shirt. I close my eyes for a heartbeat as he runs his palms up my arms, bringing my tee with them. When Rusty gently removes the shirt from my head, I open my eyes again, falling head long into the desire I see in his.
“Thank you,” I breathe.
“Now for this pesky thing,” he muses as he slides a finger under the strap of my bra. “I’m sure it could get in the way.”
“I’m sure,” I agree, trying hard to remember my objective so that I don’t get lost in the moment.
Rusty reaches around me and pops open the hook of my bra with one flick of his fingers. He runs his hands up over my shoulders and down my arms, removing my bra straps as he goes.
I see his eyes flicker down. My ni**les tighten when I hear him suck in a breath through his clenched teeth. I know he wants to touch them. He loves my body. He’s told me a thousand times as he worships every inch of it. But this time, he’ll have to love it from a distance. Even if it’s a short distance.
“My shorts,” I prompt, knowing I’m dangerously close to giving in to my need of him.
Rusty’s gaze comes back to mine. He doesn’t move. Or speak. He just watches me. I know he’s fighting touching me. And I let him.
Finally, he drops to one knee and reaches for my waistband. Carefully, he unbuttons my shorts and then slowly unzips them. He doesn’t touch me in any way except when he leans forward just enough to press his lips to the top edge of my panties.
Heat pours into my core and my body throbs for him to kiss me lower. Then lower still. But he doesn’t. With his face so close I can feel his breath, Rusty pulls my shorts down my legs then follows them with my panties.
When I’m standing before him, wearing nothing but my shoes and a passion for him that never seems to die, he looks up at me. For a few seconds, I think it’s over. The game is over. He’s going to kiss me and I’m going to let him. But he doesn’t. Instead, Rusty stands slowly to his feet and says, “Your turn.”
I kick off my shoes, take a deep breath and curl my fingers in the hem of Rusty’s shirt. I pull it up, letting my hands touch his hard, smooth skin as I go. I can feel every ripple of his abdomen, every hard bulge of his pecs, but I don’t give in to my urge to press my lips to them.
I stretch up on my tiptoes to tug his shirt over his head. He’s taller than me, so I have to sway slightly toward him to reach high enough. My br**sts graze his chest and I gasp. I can’t help it. The sensation of his skin touching my ni**les flashes through me like a bolt of lightning, hot and electric.
“Jen-na,” he warns gruffly.
“Sorry,” I pant. I throw his shirt to the side and drop to my knees in front of him. I reach for the button of his jeans. I pause with my fingers tucked just inside his waistband and I look up at him. His face is set in stone and his jaw is clenched. I know this is hard for him. And when I let my eyes travel down, I can see the enormous bulge that assures me just how hard it is for him. Impulsively, I lean forward and press my lips to it. I hear him moan and his fingers wind into my hair, holding me to him for a few seconds before he tugs my head away.
“You’d better hurry it up or this is all over with,” he says hoarsely.
I grin up at him. “Can’t handle it?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but stops, clamping his teeth shut with a click. He watches me for a bit before his lips curve into a smile. “We’ll see who can handle what,” he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “Continue.”
He’s steeling himself against wanting me, which makes me want to tease him that much more. I want to break him. I want him to give in because he just can’t stand it. I want him to forsake all else for me, for the want of me, for the love of me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from Rusty—his devotion. The same kind of devotion I have for him.