LOVE BIRDS (New Update*)

[naruto9211]

“Don’t you have any casual clothes?”

Aditya swept her damp hair to the side and kissed her neck as she
stared at her wardrobe, trying to make her clothing selection for the day.
“I didn’t need them when I started working, so I gave them all away,” she
said.

“You had them, though? Or were they all knee-length skirts and button-
downs?” As he spoke, his arms stole around her bathrobe-clad waist and
hugged her to his naked chest. Her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to relax
or stiffen.

She suspected he was seducing her. It was almost working. It was
definitely making her mind fuzzy, but that was a good thing. He was
distracting her from her headache and the fact that she was terribly off-
schedule today, something that normally filled her with irritation and
frustration until she could start over and do things right.

“They were skirts and button-downs. How do you know me so well?”
His hot breath fanned over her ear as he chuckled. “You are my favorite
puzzle lately. I want to see you in sundresses, Ayesha.”

“I don’t have any.”

“It’s Sunday. We could go shopping.”

She turned around, feeling a spike of anxiety at the thought of going out in
public, going somewhere new, and worst of all, trying on itchy, scratchy
clothes that were probably dusted from warehouse floors. 

“Can you make me sundresses?

I was serious when I said I wanted custom Aditya designs. 

I’ll have to get anything I buy seriously altered before I can wear it,
anyway.”

Instead of answering, he pulled a pink shirt off its hanger and inspected the
inside seams. “French seams. The fabric is . . .” He rubbed it between his
fingers. “It’s plain cotton.”

“I love cotton. Silk, too. I don’t mind synthetic fabrics like acrylic and
Lycra, as long as they’re soft, but I can’t stand crisp denim or wool or
cashmere.”

A pleased smile curved over his mouth as he continued to check out the
construction of her shirt. “My practice girlfriend might know more about
textiles than I do. Impressive.”

His compliment made her feel warm and bubbly, but her mind snagged on
her “practice girlfriend” title.

 She didn’t like it—namely the “practice” half—
but she knew she had to be realistic about what she could and couldn’t have.

Better to focus on the irony of her tactile defensiveness leading them to a
common interest. She restrained herself from reading off fabric types and
qualities like an encyclopedia.

He hung her shirt back up neatly and stepped in front of her, resting his
hands on her hips. “I really want you in sundresses, Ayesha. I love the pencil
skirts. They do fantastic things to one of my favorite parts of you, but they’ve
also been torturing me.”

“How? Why?”

“They don’t let me do this.” Watching her with heated eyes, he drew the
end of her bathrobe up. It made a brushing sound against his jeans as he bared her thighs to the cool air. His palm scbangd up the outside of her leg, paused at her hip, and reached behind her to squeeze her perfectly rounded ass.

The black curls between her thighs were visible, and she caught him
eyeing them darkly.

 Without asking, without hesitating, without giving her
time to think, he slipped his hand over her hip and down to her pelvis. 

Daring fingertips threaded through the hair and massaged the peak of her mound.


Her skin burned where he touched her, and her knees weakened. She
braced herself on his shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her.

The taste of his clean mouth was heavenly, and a high-pitched sound
hummed from her throat as she kissed him back. She tried to kiss him as well
as he’d taught her, but she couldn’t concentrate. His fingers were doing
diabolical things to her. 

It was all she could do to stand, and she wasn’t doing
a good job of it. Each stroke of his fingers melted her a little more. 

She was starting to tremble.

Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. The
feel of her back sinking into the blankets brought her to reality. They
were finally going to do this. Sex. Without structure, without a plan. She was
going to be bad at it, and he’d have to show her what to fix, how to improve,
and she’d try very hard to take the criticism in stride even though it
humiliated—
He tore her bathrobe open, and his mouth fastened on her nipple, drawing
deeply. She arched into him with a gasp that turned into a moan when his
hand slid between her thighs again and stroked her clitoris. Her sex clenched so hard it hurt.


“Shhhhhh,” he whispered against her breast.

One long finger slipped into her, and grateful sighs and murmurs tumbled
from her lips. That was exactly what she needed. He worked a second finger
in, and the stretching sensation had her head falling back. No, this was what
she needed. 

Her heels dug into the bed as she pushed into the penetration. His
fingers eased in and out, curling against her to breathtaking effect.
When he removed his touch, she couldn’t bite back a protesting sound.

“Aditya, more, I—”

He lifted his glistening fingers to his lips and sucked them into his mouth.
The intensity of his eyes coupled with his devilish grin had her bunching the
blankets in her hands as her core tightened on itself.

The caresses resumed with deep, slow thrusts. It was good, so good, but he
wasn’t touching her where she needed it. Her hips writhed as she tried to
relieve the growing ache. 

When he withdrew again, she stroked her hands down her stomach
in rampant frustration, but her own touch did nothing to
excite her.

He gripped her knees, pulled them apart to bare her to his eyes. His
chest expanded on a sharp inhalation, and his dragon tattoo rippled. His throat worked on a loud swallow. “I should have known you’d have the prettiest little—”

“Aditya, don’t say it,” she said quickly.

He paused, considered her with a naughty glint in his eyes. “You mean . . .
pussy?”


Flames burned her face, and she wanted to hide inside herself.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “No wonder my mom likes you so
much. It’s very desi to be modest about sex. I didn’t even know the
correct marathi word for girl parts until I was twenty.”


Her face burned even hotter, and the blush spread down her neck to her
chest, touching everything. “That’s a cat. They purr and catch mice. Me—that part—it doesn’t—the image is so ridiculous—I can’t—”


“It’s a pussy, Ayesha, and it’s wet for me, and I want to eat it.” Focusing a
dark look between her legs, he traced her folds, dipped inside briefly, and
began circling the part of her that wanted him most. “And this, this is your
clit. It wants my mouth so bad it’s bright reddish pink. Put us both out of our misery, and let me taste you. 

If you hate it, I’ll stop.”

It hit her then that he truly wanted this, her. He liked what he saw. His
unabashed craving for her most private parts was real. And dirty. And . . .
exciting. A secret Ayesha woke up and stretched, drawn to Aditya and his
words.

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t like it and I don’t respond like other
women?” She wanted to like it, wanted to orgasm for his mouth like so many
other women had, and because of that, her arousal started fading away as
performance anxiety took its place.

“If you don’t like it, then we’ll move on.” Running his hands down her
inner thighs, he spread her wider. The tip of his tongue pressed against his
gorgeous upper lip.

He bent down close to her wet flesh, making her nervousness spike to
heart-pounding levels, and took a deep breath. “I’m beginning to understand
your addiction to my smell. It’s a good thing you don’t smell like this
everywhere, though. I’d have a constant hard-on for you. I’m having enough
trouble as it is.”

A gentle closed-mouth kiss landed on her clitoris, and her entire body
stiffened. That was not what she’d expected.

“Hate it?” he asked.

“I—I . . .”

Another kiss, followed by a slow tasting. He hummed his approval and
covered her with his mouth, sucking with slight pressure as his tongue laved
her. Soft and warm and delicious. Ayesha’s body went limp as heat bloomed
inside her.

“I can tell you don’t like it,” he rasped. “Just let me . . .” His tongue
stroked into her, lapping at the moisture that flooded from her. “One last
taste.” He returned to her clitoris, scbanging his teeth against the sensitive
nerves before he kissed her again, sipped at her, licked her.

She buried her face in the blankets as pleasure concentrated low and deep.
His tongue was so clever, but release stayed just out of reach. This was too
new. Her body was in a state of shock from the sensations bombarding her.
When he stopped she was going to cry.

Two fingers worked into her, and her eyes rolled back into her head. He
began a steady rhythm as his tongue flickered over her, and she couldn’t
prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, she was riding his
hand, smothering his face with her pussy. 

That had to be bad. She told herself to stop. She couldn’t.

Somehow, she found her hands tangled in his short hair. Her body was
coiling tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now she could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into her.

“I’ll stop, Ayesha. Clearly . . .” His tongue rubbed over her fast and hard,
and she clenched helplessly around his fingers. “Clearly, you hate this.”

“Aditya.” That breathy, needy voice was hers. She didn’t care. She
rubbed her hungry flesh against his tongue, nearly sobbing when he took her
back into his mouth.

He sucked with perfect pressure, and she came apart with strong,
wrenching convulsions. He rode out the orgasm with her, dragging out the
pleasure with soothing flicks of his tongue. 

As the aftershocks spaced out, he pressed a parting kiss to her sex and rose over her to blanket her with his body. She buried her face against his chest, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than she’d ever been.


She’d let him do that to her. She’d made all those sounds, lost all control.

“You came on me like a porn star, Ayesha. I almost spilled in my jeans.”

“Did it take me too long? Was that a lot of . . . work?” It discomforted her
that she’d been the only one to derive pleasure from that act. She much
preferred to be on the giving side of things.

He laughed softly. “I drew it out on purpose, Ayesha. You were sexy as
hell.” Peeling away from her, he sat back on his heels and extracted a small
foil from his pocket. “Do you want to?”

She pushed herself up, and the bathrobe slipped off her shoulders. She
stifled the reflex to cover her nudity but couldn’t bring herself to meet his
eyes. 

Her pulse was out of control. “Yes, I want to.” She took the foil from his
hand and tore it open with shaky fingers.


He got down from the bed and unbuttoned and unzipped his zip. His
muscles bunched and shifted, and the dragon tattoo winked at her as he
stepped free of his pants with masculine grace. This was Aditya in all of his
naked glory. He was perfection. Even that part of him.

Oh God, especially that part of him. His erection stood at attention, thick
and veined, in flawless proportion to the rest of his beautiful body. She’d just
had the most intense orgasm of her life, but she wanted more. She wanted
that. It made her mouth water, and she’d never given a man oral sex.

She couldn’t remember how to breathe as he kneeled on the bed and
wrapped one of her hands around him. He was so hot, satiny soft, but rigid
underneath. Want, want, want. In any way she could. In whatever way he
liked.

“Ayesha, the look on your face.” His voice was hoarse, almost a groan. He
guided her fist up and down his length, saying, “This is my cock. When you
want it, when you need it, that’s the word I want you to use.”

Unable to speak, she nodded. Secret Ayesha loved the idea of demanding
his . . . cock . . . and him providing it, though she didn’t think she’d ever be
able to get that word past her lips. Not unless they were talking about farm
animals. Probably not even then.

“Do you want to put it on me?” he asked, indicating the forgotten condom
in her other hand.

She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Yes.”

Her hands weren’t steady, so she and Aditya ended up doing it together.

When they finished, he pulled her close, and she shivered at the feel of their
skin coming in contact. Her nipples grazed his chest, and his solid length
burned against her lower belly. He swept his hands up and down her back as
he angled his head, trying to catch her gaze.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

She trained her eyes on the notch at the base of his throat and hunched her
shoulders forward. “I’m feeling very self-conscious.”

“We’re both naked.”

She didn’t know how to explain that it was on the inside that she was
feeling naked. If he looked into her eyes, he’d see all of her, the person she
kept hidden away. No one wanted to see that. This was supposed to be fun
and educational, not soul-baring.

He tipped her chin back, and she caught a glimpse of tender eyes before
she squeezed her own shut.

“Kiss me, please,” she said.

Warm lips took hers, tasting of her and him and sex. His hands grew
urgent as he caressed her. 
He grabbed her thigh and hooked her leg around his
hips, opening her to him. With a flex of his hips, he stroked over her sex.

 The friction sent blood pooling fast and hot.

“Now, Ayesha.”

She wrapped her arms around the barrel of his chest and pressed her lips to
his neck. “I’m ready.”

He lowered her to the bed, and his body covered her. He nuzzled against
her jaw and ear, pressed soft kisses to her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips. 

“You have to talk to me, okay? If something hurts, if you don’t like it, if
you want something more, if it’s perfect. Say everything.”

Eyes still shut, she said, “I’ll . . . try.”

Unexpectedly, he flipped her around so she was on her hands and knees. 

“I think you’ll feel less self-conscious this way.”


She opened her eyes, taking in the rumpled pillows and wooden
headboard. He was right. This was better. He couldn’t see her. She
immediately relaxed. 

“Will it be good for you this way?” The other men had
all preferred the missionary position.

“No, it’s going to be excellent.” Rough hands glided down her back and
massaged her with voluptuous motions. His firm chest brushed against her
shoulder blades as he propped an arm on the bed next to her. Reaching in
front of her, he slid a hand up her inner thigh. 

He searched through her folds and sank his fingers deep, working her until her hips were rocking and fresh moisture drenched the both of them. Withdrawing, he teased her clitoris with gentle touches.

“Aditya . . .”

“Ayesha,” he replied, breathing heavily in her ear.

Something hard prodded at the entrance of her body and pushed inside
slowly. Ayesha stopped breathing. Sex had hurt in the past, but there was
nothing now but a sensuous stretching that went on and on until Aditya
seated himself fully inside her. 

She tried to swallow, to talk. Couldn’t.

They fit perfectly.


For long moments, Aditya remained immobile. Sensing the tension in his
body, she looked at him over her shoulder.

“Aditya?”

His face was drawn as if in pain. “I’ve been wanting this too long. It’s too
good. You feel . . .” He exhaled. “If I move, I’m going to lose it.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She wasn’t alone in this. “Move.”

She arched her back and rocked against him. The motion pushed him in even
deeper, filled her.

A raw groan escaped his throat. “Ayesha, I’m serious. Give me a moment to
cool down. This is our first time. I want fireworks for you.”

Our first time. He made it sound like there would be lots of times. The
thought made her so happy her heart wanted to burst. She didn’t need
fireworks. She just needed him.

Wet kisses landed on her neck, interspersed with teasing nips and greedy
licks. He traced the folds stretched tightly around him before sliding his slick
fingertips higher. When he rubbed her there, she clenched on him and
moaned.

Only then did he begin moving. He withdrew, thrust back into her,
retreated, returned, picking up a driving rhythm. The twin assaults of his
fingers and invading tool kindled flames beneath her skin that spread outward in widening rings.

“Ayesha,” he said with a groan. “You feel too good. Sweet Ayesha, my
Ayesha.”

His words soothed and excited. She tried to speak as he’d asked her to, but
all that came out were gasps and sighs of pleasure. Instead, she communicated how she felt with her body. She spread her thighs wider and writhed to match him thrust for thrust. Did he like that? Or was she being too debauched? The hand propped against the mattress captured hers, and he interlaced their fingers.

“Just like that,” he whispered. “Perfect.”

Her sex fisted tight. For a timeless moment, she hovered on the brink,
breathless, possessed, loved. The orgasm crashed over her. 

She rippled around him as he drove into her relentlessly. She attempted to meet his thrusts, but the strong convulsions gripping her body stole her coordination.


His lips traveled from her neck to her jaw, and when she turned toward
him blindly, he captured her mouth, stroking his tongue deep. The caresses
between her legs did not ease, and before the last orgasm had finished, she
felt another building. Her muscles fluttered around his impalement, clamped
down, and exploded yet again. With a hoarse groan, he surged into her one
last time.

He rubbed his jaw against her cheek and neck and lowered her shaking
body to the bed, held her close like she was his. She stroked clumsy hands
over the strong arms wrapped around her and held him back.

Until she remembered sex didn’t mean anything to him, and she loosened
her grip somewhat. Aditya enjoyed physical intimacy. That was all.

Emotion clogged her throat, anyway. If this was just practice, she never
wanted the real thing. How long could she live in a fantasy?