15. November 20- Savannah

"See, this is lovely," Wilder says, pushing his feet into my face and cradling the popcorn bucket in the nook of his arm at the other end of the couch. "It's called cuddling, and most people find it pleasant and warm during the winter months. In fact, I've heard that some people cuff just for this feeling we're experiencing right now."

I roll my eyes and click on Netflix, smiling despite myself. "Congratulations. You have me here in cuddle position. What do you want to watch?"

My voice coos when I ask the question, and it's everything I can do to not lick my lips. I've never had a foot fetish, but his socks are clean under my chin, and he just got out of the shower, so he doesn't smell like feet. The urge to reach down and lick a sock-clad toe is there, but I can't. I'm still too shy.

Somewhere, my mother and Melissa are both rolling their eyes at my ridiculous behavior. A sexy man is with me on the couch. Sure, we're facing each other, and I'm concerned that my feet don't smell as pleasant as his, but he's still on the same furniture. That's a huge step for me, given my relationship history.

"The Christmas movies are out," I suggest, and he smiles. It's a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Fair enough. He doesn't like Christmas movies. He didn't veto it outright.

I click to the show and settle in, bringing a throw blanket over us as his hand settles on my leg. I freeze and focus on the TV, pretending to get lost in the New York City scene on the screen during the opening credits. If he keeps rubbing my leg like this, my panties will be wet and destroyed by the time the main heroine quits her city job and moves to the country.

I take a deep breath and focus on his feet under my chin. Wait, that won't work. He has sexy feet. Fuck, am I so desperate that I'm becoming one of those women that lick toes?

"Want some popcorn?" he asks, still smiling and shaking the almost-empty bucket. He's always nice to me, but there's something different about it tonight. He's nicer. More accommodating.

"It's burnt," I respond. My mouth is dry, and those two words are all I can eke out.

He shrugs and moves his eyes back to the screen. "I like my popcorn just a wee burnt. Not enough to stink up the house and set off the fire alarm. I think it's perfect when it's a little extra cooked by letting the microwave run a few seconds past the last pop."

We watch in silence for a few minutes while that hand works at my leg. Stroking. Kneading. The massage-like feeling is too much, and my eyes flutter. "Where did you get so good at that?"

"At what?" he asks, the picture of innocence.

"Massage. That feels good, Wilder."

I hear myself when I say his name. I'm a tart. A trollop. There's a nice, sweet Christmas show on TV where the main characters only hold hands at the end, and here I am, practically panting over the man at the other end of the couch because he's touching my leg.

"Savannah, do you want a massage?"

"No," I say a little too fast. I'd love a massage. Me and my damn awkwardness again. My face flushes, and I cover my face.

He moves his feet, and his hand comes off my leg. I miss it. He moves until he's hovering over my torso, there's only the blanket between us, and his arms tremble with holding himself in a plank position over my prone body. "Savannah, look at me."

I take my hands down and find his eyes. They're dark and hooded. "Do you want me to give you a massage?" he whispers. "It's normal to want me to touch you. We can touch each other." He smooths a stray hair back from my face. "If you were so inclined, you could touch any part of my body, and I'd let you."

God damn me to hell. I put my finger under his chin and tilt it up so he's only an inch from my mouth. "Will you kiss me?"

"If you ask nicely, I'll give you more than a kiss. We can start with this, though."

I sigh into his lips as he places them gently against mine. He tastes of popcorn, but I can't taste the burnt pieces. I only taste the salt. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him down. His weight is heavy on top of me, but I can breathe, and I feel safe and protected from the world. He's my own personal shield, wrapping his body around mine.

Our mouths move as one, tasting and nipping at each other without urgency. This is nice. It's nice to kiss a man on my couch on a leisurely evening. It's nice settling into the soft cushions at my back as a hard man at my front runs his hands up and down my side.

Shivers move through me as his lips move away from my mouth, only to move to my neck and shoulders. "Can I move these tank top straps? I want to see these shoulders."

"Yes," I gasp.

His hands pull the straps of my tank top down one at a time. He places a light kiss on each shoulder and moves the tank top down far enough to place a lazy kiss on the top of my breast. "That looked like it needed a kiss, too."

"It definitely did," I whimper into his hair as his lips move down my clothed body.

At my pants, he pushes the hem of my shirt up. "This cute belly needs a kiss, too. What do you think?"

"Yes. It definitely needs a kiss." I grip his hair and let his lips roam my entire stomach as his stubble tickles my bellybutton. The only other man who's kissed my stomach was clean-shaven, and I tremble as I get used to the feel of Wilder's cheek. He moves down further, and I arch into his lips. Lower. Lower.

Too low!

I pull his hair, and he jerks his head up. "No?" he asks, playing with my waistband. "I really think everything needs to be kissed right now."

I go for honesty. "I'm not used to men kissing me there."

"Has anyone ever kissed you there?" he asks, propping himself on his elbow but still running his fingers up and down my zipper.

"Once. I didn't think it was the big deal other people say it is."

"Ms. Smart, I assure you it is. If you think I'm leaving this couch without showing you how good a tongue can feel running up your wet slit, you don't know me very well."

"This isn't in the contract."

Why did I bring that up? Why is that the first thing I thought to say? Who cares about the fucking contract? A guy is begging to eat me out, and I bring up our signed agreement?

"Want me to add it in? I can add a clause about getting you off with my mouth. It'll probably be really long, you know," he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin above my waistband. He kisses me again, and his lips are wet now, like he's salivating at the idea of feasting on me. "I'll have to go on and on about running my tongue up and down that clit just right."

He pulls my pants down an inch and runs his tongue across the top of my panties. "Holy fucking shit!" I gasp.

"Can't I have a lick?" he begs, his voice husky. "Just one, Savannah. I'll stop if you don't like what I do to you."

He drags my zipper down and looks up at me as I let him do whatever he wants. I'm powerless to stop him because my hands won't push him away and powerless to stop the train of his tongue running along my underwear.

"Huh, no granny panties?" he asks, pulling my jeans down.

I arch up to help him pull my pants down. "Did you think I wore granny panties?"

"Yes," he says, kissing the top of my mound. A shudder moves through me, and he tongues the lace of my panties that meet my thighs. "I'm impressed. In fact, I think I'll have fun with these panties first."

What the hell is he going to do with my panties except take them off?

I get my answer when he pushes my legs open and kisses my pussy over the lacy fabric. "Mmm," he groans from between my legs.

I look down but can't catch his eyes. They're closed as his mouth nips at the fabric. He runs his nose over my panties, up and down the area, and brazenly mouths me through my underwear like my lingerie is that poor bagel from the other day.

"You're so wet, I can taste how much you want this just from licking your panties. I bet I could wring them out."

"My fucking God," I whimper, his hands pulling at the waistband but not pulling my underwear down.

I buck and jerk, wiggling my hips and willing him to just pull the fucking fabric off already. I cover his hands with my own and push, but he chuckles into my crotch and keeps his hands exactly where he wants them.

"Someone's rather eager to be bare with me."

"Please, Wilder!"

"Beg. Tell me," he demands, his voice suddenly dangerous and almost mean.

"What do you want to hear? I'll say whatever you want."

"I want to hear you plead for me to take your panties off and eat your pussy. That's what I want," he says. He runs his nose up my slit again but doesn't break eye contact this time. "Beg for me to devour you. It'll feel so good, Savannah. I'll make sure you like it."

I fist his hair, and he laughs. He actually laughs as I paw at his hair like an animal in heat. This damn man in my apartment and space is laughing that he has me right where he wants me.

He wins.

"Wilder, please," I sob. "Take my panties off."

"Then what?"

I hesitate because it's hard for a mouse like me to say the words. "Put your mouth on me. Please!"

"Look at me while I do it. Don't close your eyes."

I meet his eyes, and he winks at me before slowly dragging my underwear down inch by inch. The fabric burns as it passes my thighs, then my knees, and gets caught on one of my toes before Wilder finally throws it across the room.

"Better?" he asks, placing a small kiss on my clit.

I always hid under the covers or was ashamed of my body when I was with the one man I've had sex with. It's not just shyness. Maybe it was societal pressure to look perfect for him. I was scared of displeasing him like a lot of young women feel when they're with a man for the first time.

I feel none of that with Wilder. He pushes my legs apart and looks between my legs. A chuckle bubbles out of my throat when I realize nobody has seen me so bare, so exposed, since the last time I was at the gynecologist.

I simply don't care, and the cool air is freeing.

He stares at me and tilts his head to the side like he's examining something of interest. "You're dripping for me," he says. "There's a little drop, right here."

He wipes his finger from my asshole to where the dribble is and looks up at me. Then, he sticks his finger into his mouth and rolls the taste on his tongue like it's a delicacy he's trying for the first time. "So yummy," he whispers and looks back down. "And so fucking beautiful."

He gives me one last wry smile before dipping down to my skin. His breath is like fire, and I gasp as his tongue flicks over my clit. "You're going to like this Savannah, and you should let me taste this more often."

I don't care what he does or when he does it. The world could explode right now, and I wouldn't give one single fuck. There's nothing but his mouth on my clit and his hands roaming my hips. I grip his hair and ride his face, completely unashamed of myself. In fact, the harder I buck into him, the more he moans from between my legs.

He's getting off on getting me off.

My couch bumps with the rhythmic movement as I ride wave after wave of pleasure, and he puts a hand on my stomach to steady us. I ignore it and throw my legs over those sexy, wide shoulders as he licks and kisses and sucks at the most inner parts of me.

The familiar sensation starts at my clit and moves to my stomach, swirling in a fire-like vice grip of pleasure I've never felt with another person. "Fuck, Wilder. God dammit!" I moan, pawing at his back. I look down and briefly wonder if I'll leave marks on his shoulders.

I squeeze my thighs around his ears, but he keeps eating me. He licks me as I break apart, moaning and arching off my couch. He nibbles at me as I say his name over and over. He sucks on my clit as my toes curl into his back.

He does all of these things until I stop shaking and whimpering. Only then does he look up at me, his tongue still idly swirling around my slit. "Had enough?"

"I want to make you feel good like you did to me."

"I thought you'd never ask, sweetheart," he smiles, getting up to his knees and undoing his pants. He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips, and I taste myself. I've never tasted myself before, but I lose myself with him. He strokes my face and hair and kisses me until my cheeks are just as wet with me as the wetness that still glistens on his stubble.

When he breaks the kiss, he rubs his nose over mine. "Let's go upstairs for you to return the favor, though. We may need more room for this."

More room? How much room do I need to blow him?