Mickey knew how he wanted this to go. To kiss Alanna's neck first, slow, lingering. Until her skin lined with goosebumps. To draw his fingers through the long, golden hair she'd had him pet that night, feel her sigh, lean her cheek into his palm. Have those amber eyes light with desire. She would lace her fine fingers between his, pull him in close. Her kiss would feel so good. Soft, eager lips.
He liked to picture her in the backless dress she'd worn the night of the reception. Wasn't sure how to imagine her wings, though he did want to see them. Run his knuckles gently over them as he held her close. No having to pretend he wasn't feeling them. Graze fingertips down her bare back. Make her shiver, press into him.
Would she want him to imagine her with her breasts or without? Odd thing to think about, when this was all in his head. But no one ever pictured him right, not even he pictured himself right, so he wanted to do that for her. Would imagine, for now, that she had some reason to keep all her glamours on. Just in case they were caught together. There, that was tantalizing, the flutter of nerves at wondering if--when--they'd be discovered.
In his mind they were on his bed now, her parting buttons on his dress shirt. In the real world, he was resisting the urge to touch himself yet. He wanted to sync up the sensations to the fantasy playing in his head. Ran his fingernails down his own skin as her teeth grazed his neck. Her hands caressing his chest now, circling one nipple. He wanted this, wanted her, wanted so badly to feel her touch him this way.
The hem of her dress lifting as she pulled her way into his lap. Him encouraging it along, a thumb hooked in the fabric, exposing bronze thigh. Feeling that smooth muscle beneath his palm again. His shirt unbuttoned enough now that her nails were running down his ribs, light enough to tease. Turning to caresses.
Her panties would be as red as the dress, he was sure, silk and lace. He'd slide fingers beneath them, feel out the curve of her hip, run a thumb over that delicate, sensitive line of skin he was sure to find there.
"I want you," her smooth voice gone husky. Just imagining her saying it set him aflame, his body hot as he lost the thread of the fantasy, ran hands along himself.
I want you.
He'd felt out the shape of her, but he wasn't really sure how things would work between them sexually. He knew they could, as long as all they were aiming for was a good time, but no one had exactly sat him down and given him the birds and the grasshoppers discussion. And who knew what she liked, anyway?
Imagined her touching him, instead, hand gliding up the inside of his clothed thigh, just barely brushing against him. Meeting his eyes with a teasing sparkle of pleasure. Closing her mouth around that one spot where his collarbone met his throat, running the heel of her palm up his shaft until all washed down to heat and desire.
And one knuckle, pressed between his legs, against the seam of his slacks, just beginning to tease his ass.
His hand in the real world fumbled for the lube, because he wanted this, too, to picture and feel—
God, yes. She'd unbutton and unzip him, work fingers up the leg of his boxers. Tried not to make the fantasy too realistic, he didn't want to think through how to deal with her long nails. The tip of her finger slick, circling. Her other hand pulling away the last button, the one over the slit in his boxers, guiding his cock free.
Would she use her mouth on him? He'd like that. Watch her grin, mischievous. Part those silken lips and tease him with her tongue. It'd leave her, too, free to touch herself in whatever way it was she liked, a moan vibrating her lips as she closed them on him, pushed her finger inside him.
"Alanna, please," he whispered to his darkened bedroom. "That feels so good, please touch me like that, please..."
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