Do You?

Chapter 31 - Do You?

The kiss deepened the moment their mouths met again. Alisha’s lips parted under his, soft and slightly wine-sweet, and Torin took the invitation without hesitation. His tongue slid against hers in a slow, deliberate stroke, tasting her, claiming the space she offered. She made a small sound in her throat—half surprise, half surrender—and her hands rose to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He pulled her closer until her full breasts pressed firmly against him. The soft weight of them flattened slightly with the pressure. One of his hands stayed at her waist; the other climbed higher, sliding under the hem of her blouse to find bare skin. Warm and Smooth.

“Miss Alisha…” he murmured against her mouth, the name low and rough.

She answered by biting his lower lip—not hard, just enough to make him feel it—then soothing the sting with a slow lick. “Don’t call me Miss,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

Torin’s fingers found the buttons of her blouse and worked them open one by one. The fabric parted, revealing the soft, heavy curve of her breasts. Surprisingly, no bra under the blouse. The nipples were already tight, dark against the pale skin. He pushed the blouse off her shoulders and let it fall; his hands rose immediately, cupping both full mounds, thumbs brushing over the peaks in slow circles.

Alisha’s head tipped back. A quiet, shaky breath left her. “Torin…”

He lowered his mouth to the side of her neck, breathing her in first—the warm, faintly salty scent of her skin, the quick flutter of her pulse under his lips. He kissed that racing spot slow and open-mouthed, tasting the heat of her, then scraped his teeth lightly along the tendon, dragging them just enough to make her shiver. The soft drag of enamel against that taut line sent a low, hungry sound vibrating in his throat.

At the same time his palms never stopped their greedy work—squeezing, lifting, massaging the heavy, yielding flesh of her breasts. He felt every soft give of them, the way the warm weight spilled and filled the spaces between his fingers, the way they overflowed his hands no matter how hard he cupped them. The skin was hot, slightly damp, the flesh dense and soft under his rough palms. He rolled one tight nipple between thumb and knuckle, pinching just enough—firm, deliberate pressure—until a soft, broken gasp escaped her. The sound went straight to his cock.

“You’re shaking,” he said against her skin.

“I know.” Her hands moved to his shirt, tugging it upward. He helped her pull it over his head and discarded it. The moment his bare chest met hers, the contact was heat against heat. Her soft breasts molded to the harder planes of his body.

Torin’s hands slid down her back, slow and deliberate, tracing the warm line of her spine before sweeping over the soft curve of her waist. His palms settled on the full, round swell of her ass, fingers spreading to claim the heavy, yielding flesh. He squeezed once, hard enough to feel the give of it, the way it filled his hands completely.

The skirt was still in the way—thin fabric that suddenly felt like a fucking insult. He found the zipper at the side, the metal teeth cool under his fingertips, and drew it down with a low, deliberate rasp. The fabric loosened instantly, falling open. He pushed it over her hips, dragging it down the smooth outer slopes of her thighs until it pooled in a soft heap at her feet.

She stepped out of it without a word, the movement quiet, almost shy. Now she stood completely bare in the low light of the living room—skin glowing faintly, every curve exposed, nothing left between his hands and the heat of her.

He stepped back just far enough to look at her. Alisha stood naked in front of him—full breasts rising and falling with each breath, soft stomach, the thick, rounded shape of her hips and ass. The years had given her body a mature, heavy softness that made his mouth go dry.

“Turn around,” he said quietly.

She did. He stepped in behind her, chest to her back, and filled both hands with her tits; his dick was on the crack of the heavy cheeks of her ass. His fingers sank into the soft flesh, spreading, kneading, lifting. He bent his head and bit the junction of her neck and shoulder, not hard enough to mark, but firm enough that she felt the edge of his teeth. At the same time, his hands were around the front, cupping both breasts, thumb stroking the tight nipple while the other continued to massage the full weight of her ass.

Alisha’s breath hitched. She reached back, found his thigh, and gripped it. “You’re not… gentle.”

“You don’t want gentle,” he answered, voice low against her ear. He licked the spot he had bitten, then kissed it. “Do you?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she turned in his arms, pressed her naked body fully against his, and claimed his mouth again. This kiss was hungrier—tongues sliding, lips sucking, the wet sound of it filling the quiet apartment. Her soft breasts crushed against his chest. His hands never stopped moving: one on her ass, fingers digging into the pliant flesh, the other on breasts, cupping and massaging the heavy tit that filled his palm so completely.

They stayed like that for a long time—kissing, hands roaming—until the only sounds in the living room were their breathing and the soft, wet noise of mouths meeting again and again.

Read up to Chapter 55 and weekly updates of 10 chapters along with different stories as well on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/KDaddy935?vanity=user