He shifts a little and I move my legs from is lap, both of us readjusting until I'm on my back, his body resting mostly on top of me. His mouth explores me, nipping and sucking at each breast in turn, paying attention to every inch in between, until he moans and buries his face in my cleavage. I can feel his tongue on my skin. His fingers hook in my bra straps, pulling them down my shoulders. I dig my fingers into his back, stroking as much skin as I can find. I can feel his muscles bunching and shifting as he moves; it fascinates me. I push the palms of my hands into them, trying to release the tension I can feel, the tension that's probably always a part of him. He goes back and forth, pushing at the cups of my bra with his nose, slowly nudging it out of the way, his lips caressing every single bit of skin he reveals. I feel his fingers on my back, searching for the clasp of my bra.
I gasp and sit up, effectively dislodging him. I was getting swept away—far too easily swept away—and it's not difficult to imagine all of this being over before it begins. I just need a few moments to regroup. And, I'm a little ashamed to admit, being naked in front of someone can be nerve wracking, and I think I just need a little more time before we get there.
"Donna…" he breathes, sitting up, too, and I look at him over my shoulder. His eyes are huge, his chest heaving, and he looks absolutely panicked. My heart immediately goes out to him. He hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, it's because he's doing everything extraordinarily right that I need just a little bit of time. I reach out and cup his cheek, running my thumb over his stubble, and lean in to kiss him for a moment before I slide off the bed. I readjust my bra straps, thinking for a moment. I want to let him know that he's doing things well, but I also need a little bit of control over the situation.
I reach to my skirt, finding the zipper tab, tugging at it unsuccessfully. That's not surprising, considering how violently my hands are shaking. I look over my shoulder at him, smiling a little in embarrassment. "My skirt's getting wrinkled," I tell him, not sure where that came from. It's true—without a doubt it's true—but it's certainly not something I considered until just now.
Before I can blink, he's standing behind me, his fingers on my skirt, tugging at the zipper a few times until it finally gives way, the material falling in a puddle around me. Everything in me tenses as I realize all over again that I'm mostly naked in front of him. I'm not sure what I'm so worked up about. I've been naked in front of a man before. I've fantasized repeatedly about being naked in front of Josh, but the reality of it is completely different. I'm actually terrified that he won't find me appealing, even though, rationally, I know that's ridiculous. I glance down at myself, cringing when I realize I'm not even wearing a matching set of underwear. Of course, it's not as if I planned on this when I got dressed this morning. I guess it's cute enough, and at least it's relatively new so—
He puts his hands on my shoulders and I shudder, pulling myself from my self-doubts. I can feel his fingertips moving across my skin, lightly at first, but gradually exploring with more confidence. He pushes my hair over my shoulder, his lips suddenly on my neck, and my head tilts automatically to give him better access. His hands trace down my sides and I jump a little in surprise, then he grabs my hips, pulling me firmly against him. His moan drowns out my own, the feel of his erection pushing against me insistently almost doing me in. I cover his hands with mine, breathing deeply for a few moments before I pull his arms around me. His fingers run over my stomach, moving lower with each pass, and I step out of his arms, looking at him over my shoulder.
Something about feeling how turned on he is right now fills me with confidence. I probably shouldn't have doubted this before, but now there's no question of how much he wants me. Even though my body is completely on edge, strung so tightly it feels like it could snap at any second, part of me relaxes a little. This is supposed to be fun. I wasn't this nervous the first time I had sex—there's no need to be so bent out of shape about it this time, even if it's with someone I care about a whole hell of a lot more.
"My skirt's still getting wrinkled," I tell him, bending over suggestively to pick it up. It's not a move I've ever really tried to pull off, but his eyes slam shut and his fists clench, so I'd say it's pretty effective. I shake out the skirt and drape it over the foot of the bed, turning to face him. He stares at me, his mouth open a little, and I can see his chest moving rapidly. A million different things rush through me at his reaction, making my body tingle all over. Feeling bolder than ever, I reach out and pull at his belt buckle, tugging at it until it opens, my fingers plucking at the button on his pants. Because it's dark it's hard for me to be completely sure, but I'd swear the tent in his pants gets even more pronounced. Eagerly, I grab at his zipper, barely getting my fingers around it before his hand clamps on my wrist. I lift my eyebrow, looking up at him, and even in the low lighting I can see that his eyes are wild, his expression desperate, and I let go of the zipper. He tugs it down a moment later, managing to take off his shoes and socks off with his pants.
My breath catches in my throat, and I can't help but stare at him in his boxers, the front of them stretched almost to the breaking point. I can only see a very vague outline at the moment, but I'm fairly positive that he's magnificent. I take a step toward him, biting my lip as he presses into my abdomen. My insides itch for him I want him so badly.
He reaches out to me, running his fingers over the top of the pantyhose I'd forgotten I was wearing. "Are these the expensive ones?"
I'm sure the surprise is obvious on my face. How on earth would Josh Lyman know or care if pantyhose come in expensive and inexpensive varieties? "No," I manage to whisper, and I'm saved from wondering how he knows there's a difference because he immediately yanks mine down, the delicate material tearing like tissue paper under his eager hands. He falls to his knees as he keeps pulling at them, and I hold onto his shoulders as I step out of decimated nylons. He makes a strangled noise, and I realize where his eyes are trained. My own arousal isn't as evident as his, but I'm sure, from his current vantage point, there's no doubt in his mind that the feeling is mutual. He leans in, his lips sliding low across my stomach, his teeth nibbling at every bit of skin they can grab. I make a strange mewling noise, my eyes falling shut. I grab onto his head again, keeping him in place. I'll give him about a year to stop this.
He shifts position, paying homage to my body as he stands. He buries his face in my chest again, breathing heavily, and it makes me laugh just a little. I didn't realize he'd be such a guy in this respect. I wrap my arms around him, running my fingers everywhere I can reach. Part of me wants to take my time and explore every single bit there is of him. It would be amazing. I'd love to get to know all the parts that have been hidden from me for so long. The rest of me knows I can't wait that long. Not after all this time, not right now, not when I feel like if I rub my thighs together a little, I'll have the orgasm of the century.
I feel his hands on the clasp of my bra again, but he makes no move to open it. I suppose he's already unsure about this particular part, since I shut him down just a few minutes ago. All I can do is sigh; I don't want to stop him this time. The material already feels like it's binding me. He latches onto my neck and unhooks my bra with ease. The cool air of the hotel room hits my overheated skin as the bra falls away from. He straightens himself up completely, the bra going with him, and it's tossed onto the pile of clothes on the bed. I feel uncomfortable for all of maybe a second before his mouth drops open. He stares at me in awe, and it makes me feel self-conscious in a whole different way. I can live with this feeling, though.
His hands are on me suddenly, stroking and caressing my breasts, holding them in his hands as if they're going to break. His thumbs brush over my nipples and I whimper. I never imagined just the simple act of someone running their fingers over my breasts would make me weak in the knees. The sensation has always been pleasant before, but nothing like this. He leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to stay upright. His teeth scrape at me, his tongue following immediately to sooth me. He switches to the other one, giving it the same attention as the first. His eyes are closed, his expression one of contentment. He has one hand on my hip, keeping me close; the other hand kneads at my breast, his touch becoming rough, though not at all unwelcome.
I push him away a little while I still can and grab the sides of his face, pulling him toward me. I kiss him as hard as I can. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and I become acutely aware of his erection trapped between us. I manage to get one of my hands between us, dragging my nails down his chest. He jerks violently against me, though he holds me tighter to him. I grab the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down over his hips. Just a moment later, I feel him come free, his hard, silky flesh rubbing against my stomach. I smile at the sensation.
I maneuver my hand between our bodies again, trailing my fingers gently over him. He jumps, almost pulling away from me completely, before pressing his hips closer to mine. I wrap my hand around him, shuddering. He feels incredible. He's so hard right now. I stroke up and down, hoping to feel him get harder, and he moans into our kiss.
I pull my mouth from his, trying to catch my breath. His eyes flutter open, our faces barely a breath apart, and I'm suddenly certain I could come from nothing more than touching him and eye contact. Touching him like this is unreal. It's better than I ever could have imagined. He's so hot in my hand; I swear I can feel the blood pulsing through him. The lines and ridges of him, the things that I could never anticipate, no matter how many fantasies I've had over the years, it all combines to make me feel something rush through me unlike anything I've ever felt before. It's something more than arousal.
My eyes wander down his body, taking in every inch I can find. All of him looks perfect—nicely defined, lots of planes and valleys for me explore at some point. I can feel him tense a little and loosen my grip a hair, reducing the friction, hoping it'll relax him a little bit.
My gaze wanders downward, and I actually moan as I see him for the first time. I like a naked man as much as the next girl, though a fully aroused man's body can sometimes look vaguely aggressive. But Josh…Josh is actually beautiful. He far exceeds my expectations. I run my fingers carefully over the tip of his erection as I rest my head on his shoulder, my free arm holding him close.
"What?" he asks, his voice a little high-pitched and tight. It doesn't seem likely that he's self-conscious or insecure—I don't think he's ever been either of those—but stranger things have happened, I suppose.
I press my face into his neck, biting at the delicate skin there. I like the way he tastes. There's a saltiness, something that I'm sure is a result of stress and moving nonstop all day, but mostly he tastes like Josh. It's not something I've tasted before tonight, but I'd know it anywhere. "I've never been with a Jewish guy before," I answer him, a little amazed to realize that, as odd as it is for me to tell him that, I've never been with a circumcised man before. Fundamentally, it's not that different, and I don't care either way—if it's attached to him and reaches me, I'm happy.
"I've been told we're better lovers than anyone else," he tells me, and I can't help but smile. Always cocky. I feel like he has the goods to back it up this time, too.
I start pumping my hand up and down him again, trying to keep a steady pace. "Okay."