We don’t even have our clothes off and I’m absolutely dripping wet, I can feel the moisture pooling in my panties. This is insane. We’re barely kissing, barely touching, and I’m on the brink of explosion.
“Tell me how you like it,” he whispers while I situate my legs in a straddle position over his hips, pushing myself upright. *God, he’s fucking gorgeous. Thank you, Tinder*. I stare at him for a brief moment to take him all in. His skin is like homemade caramel, so rich in melanin and smooth. He trails his fingers down the front of my dress and lands both hands on my waistline. I can feel the calluses on his palms even through my clothes— he must do some heavy lifting on his off days.
“I was hoping you’d be a big boy and figure it out for yourself,” I say in a taunting voice, pulling away from our kiss to look at him with a pouty bottom lip and puppy dog eyes. He slides the straps of my dress off my shoulders, exposing one nipple at a time. The frigid air in his apartment hardens them instantly. His fingers explore the veins around my neck and his eyes find mine.