The Saint Jones [Completed]

chapter 42: I'm Yours

He grabs the hem of his black shirt and with a swift motion, he pulls it off his head. My eyes study his stomach and his chest as he pulls the fabric away, making him naked from the upper body. Holy cow, I am in love with his stomach, with his abs, with his perfect torso. This is a masterpiece.

While pulling the shirt from his head, he is as careful as possible not let his sunglasses fall away from their particular place and honestly, I do not mind anymore. Right now, with my back pressed against the soft mattress, him on top of me, there is nothing much I can think of, certainly not his sunglasses.

When he finally succeeds at removing his shirt without touching his sunglasses, he throws the black thing away, it lands somewhere far from the bed, he throws it with such severity as if he was irritated by it. He does not waste much time as he supports himself on his left arm and leans down, sucking my lips.

His lower body is now completely pressed against mine, a few moments ago, he gently asked me if it was possible for me to open my legs, just a bit more so that he could get in between, I opened it as much as I could, he cannot grumble about it now.

The way his lips is working on mine, like he is kissing and caressing the most diaphanous and delicious thing ever. His tongue is comfortable in my mouth, swirling a full sensation of pleasure through me that was unknown to me until now. His free hand is slowly running down my side to my cheek, rubbing my skin with gentle movements. I want more.

I have no idea what is taking over me but my hand goes down my body, trying to find a small path between his body and mine and I try to unbutton my shorts. He must have felt the sudden movement down there because he pulls back a bit, looking down at what my fingers are desperately trying to do.

"I can help you," he says quickly and grabs my hand, placing it by my side and he works with the button of my jeans. His fingers is doing this with such delicacy, as if he is touching something smooth and sweet, like candy floss. When he undoes the button, he pushes the zipper down, the sound flying around us in this profound silence. The whole time my eyes are on him, when he grabs the sides of the cloth and pulls it down my legs slowly, my eyes are glued on him. I would like to see his eyes because for me he looks impassive right now. Everything revolves around the eyes.

He throws the shorts away, this time it alights not so far from the bed. My yellow bikini appears prominently, I feel the urge to take it off. I am kind of shock with myself, where do these thoughts come from? Why do I want this so much? Why do I want him so bad? It is as if a chord that was maintaining my desire broke in my head, releasing all the desires and the sexual attractions that I have for him, for this handsome man.

"Your bottom is wet," he mentions, my cheeks is flushing. The way he says it makes me want to grab him and to do things to him, so many things.

"It is because of the water, it has not dried," I mumble, he nods. He clears his throat and stands up on the bed, what is he doing?

Seconds later, I get my answer right and clear. His hands reach his black shorts and he undoes the lace, then he pulls it down until it reaches his ankles. Never has something like this excited me so much. Never. My legs starts throbbing, I rub them together like a psycho who is in a lack. Looking at him like that, over me, in his dark blue boxers, I feel hot, extremely hot. On fire.

He falls back on the bed, on me more precisely, I feel him more against my bottom bikini.

"We're not equal," he whispers against my ear, a hard and belligerent shiver run through me. I feel like dying. I know what he means, we are not equal, he is shirtless, I am still wearing my white strapless top.