Button by individual button.

She loved the look on his face. The double take, the slow 
appreciative glance Ned gave her, as she walked into the 
flickering halo of blue television light. The cuffs of his shirt 
hung loose at her wrists and she curled up next to him on the 
couch, a smile creeping over her face.

They were both staring at the television, not paying a damn bit of 
attention to it, when he said, his voice very casual, "I bet 
you're wearing something under that."

"You'd win that bet," she said, not moving a muscle.

"Why do you do that," he said, shaking his head softly.

"Because I like the thought of the, oh, two seconds that'll count 
as foreplay before you have me completely naked."

"Dirty liar," he said, in the same conversational tone. "Foreplay 
is every single one of those buttons."

"Three seconds, then."

They began by fingertips. She had no idea what they were watching. 
His hand was between them, on the couch, palm against the cushion, 
and she traced her finger over one of his, over his knuckles, over 
the bone of his wrist. He flipped his hand over and Nancy traced a 
slow spiral over his palm, gentle, and his fingertips twitched as 
she threaded her fingers between his. He traced his thumb over the 
back of her hand, slow, very slow. He unlaced their fingers and 
pressed his fingertips against hers, palm to hers.

"Wet?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself," she said, her lips curled 
up in a smile, still staring at the television.

He slipped his fingertips up her arm, very slowly, twisting his 
fingers against the collar of his own shirt, then bent his face to 
her neck and pressed the softest kiss against her skin. He trailed 
kisses up her neck, to just behind her ear, breathing soft against 
her skin, taking her earlobe into his mouth and tracing his tongue 
against the edge.

She released a slow, trembling breath, blinking slowly, the 
television entirely forgotten.

He traced his mouth over her cheek, to her own mouth, kissing her, 
gentle and soft and she opened her mouth and pressed her tongue 
against his as it dipped into her mouth. She tilted her head back 
and he kissed her slow and hard and she returned it, her spine 
arching against the back of the couch.

"Ned," she whispered, when he pulled back, his lips swollen and 
wet with their kiss, his eyes dark and hooded. She slipped her 
legs out from under her and leaned forward, bringing her hand up 
to cup the back of his head as she kissed him, hard, teeth and 
tongue and gasped breaths. She made a soft surprised noise as he 
traced the tip of his tongue up the underside of hers, his hands 
resting at her waist, over the folds of soft cotton. "What are you 
trying to do," she said, her voice edged in a smile.

"Prove you wrong," he said softly, tracing his fingers down her 
cheek, running the back of his hand in a brief glancing caress 
over the round of her breast. She took a deep breath but he was 
just staring her, the faintest smile on his face.

"Trying to tease me, Nickerson?"

"I am," he corrected her softly, his smile widening. "I am teasing 
you."

Nancy slipped her hands under the hem of his shirt, let her 
fingertips rest against the solid muscle beneath, the 
oversensitive flesh. "You'll break first."

"I'll break and do what," he said, leaning forward until their 
lips were the space of a breath apart, and she could feel the heat 
radiating from his skin.

She leaned forward and planted a kiss against his swollen lower 
lip. "You'll break and rip these panties off and fuck me. These 
little black lace panties." She straddled his waist in a smooth 
sinuous movement, pressing her mouth to his right ear, and he 
trembled for an instant at the feel of her breath against his 
skin. "This little black lace thong. All you'd have to do is reach 
between my legs and rip it off." She traced her fingertips down to 
the front of his jeans and unfastened his belt without taking her 
gaze from his, slipped it out of the loops and tossed it over the 
edge of the couch.

He reached up and unfastened the first button of her shirt, his 
shirt, smoothed her collar open and leaned forward to press his 
lips in a slow kiss against her breastbone. "No, I won't," he said 
into her skin. "You'll push my boxers down two inches and mount me 
and fuck me until you come. You're so wet right now."

"Like you're not hard," she said, but her eyelashes had fluttered 
down to her cheeks, his palms resting warm against the curve of 
her hips. She unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, peeled them open, 
and traced her fingers down the cloth of his boxers until she 
found the opening.

"Oh, come on," he whispered, pressing her against an arm of the 
couch, their hips joined and frustrated by layers of cotton. 
"That's not what you want, is it. You don't want to do this with 
your fingers, you want to do this while you're moaning over me."

"You afraid?"

"You wish," he said, unfastening the next button of her shirt, 
tracing his tongue against her skin. "You want me to put my 
fingers up in you and stroke your clit until you're begging me to 
fuck you?"

Her lips parted in a soundless moan, but she grinned. "That would 
be cheating."

"You want it, though, don't you."

"I want to suck you dry."

He grinned, even as his hips surged against hers. "That would be 
cheating."

"Like you don't want it. Like you don't want to find out if I'm 
wet right now."

His hands slipped down, the barest inch, his fingertips resting 
just over the waistband of her panties. Which felt like lace. And 
thin like a thong. "I know you are."

"And hot and throbbing," she groaned into his ear, her breath 
against his skin. She took his earlobe into her mouth and nibbled 
it softly. "And, God, Ned, you're so big and so hard and I want 
you so bad, I want you inside me, just..."

He loosed two more buttons, his fingers trembling, revealing her 
bra. The light flickered over her skin. With every breath her 
breasts strained against the lace, the curve of flesh swelling 
toward him. He hooked a finger under the scalloped lace edge of 
one cup and pulled it down until her breast slipped out, her 
nipple already erect.

"Hurts, doesn't it," he said, dipping his head to trace slow soft 
feather-light kisses over her skin until he was suckling against 
her and she was squirming gently against him. He traced the tip of 
his tongue over the tip of her nipple and she moaned before she 
could clamp her mouth shut, tilting her head back. Ned pulled away 
from her, his hands slipping down to loose the last three buttons, 
brushing in a soft painfully brief caress between her thighs 
before he drew the straps of her bra slowly down her arms, until 
both her breasts were bare in the flickering light. He nipped down 
her skin, traced his teeth over the tip of her other nipple, 
suckled gently until her very heartbeat matched his rhythm and her 
breath was audible gasps in the dark.

She reached down in a quick movement and pulled his shirt over his 
head, letting her own shirt fall off. He curved his arms behind 
her back and loosed her bra, which fell to the couch between them, 
then was gone. They came together again, without question or 
thought, his mouth against hers, his tongue in her mouth, and she 
pushed herself up on her knees and he rose to his own, and she 
pushed his jeans down his thighs, his fingers twining hard in the 
hair against her scalp. She could feel his erection through his 
boxers. Her nipples sliding against his bare chest. Her thighs 
trembling.

He pulled away from her suddenly, hard, and while he wrestled his 
jeans off she pulled herself to unsteady legs and stood at the end 
of the couch, his saliva cooling on her skin, wearing only the 
briefest black lace thong. He was in his boxers when he gazed up 
at her, climbed to his own feet, and she reached for his hand.

He made a soft noise, his gaze inquisitive, but she laced her 
fingers between his and drew him to the stairs, and up to their 
bedroom. When they were at the landing he wrapped his arms around 
her waist and pulled her up, her bare back against his chest, her 
feet off the floor, and when they reached the doorway of their 
bedroom she clung to the frame as he slipped his hands down, 
fingertips under her waistband, and cupped his palms over her bare 
ass, his hips moving gently against her thighs. "Ned," she 
breathed, and he released her, to stand on unsteady legs before 
him.

She crawled into their bed and lay on her back, knees bent and 
legs open, and moaned when he ripped the thong off. She pushed his 
boxers down and he was throbbing, and she touched him, crying out 
in relief as he dipped his fingertips between her legs, between 
the folds of flesh, and found the hard wet button, tracing his 
thumbnail over the tip. She arched her spine, her breasts 
shifting.

It didn't matter anymore. She was begging him, begging him to fuck 
her. She slipped her fingers around his cock and urged him down 
between her thighs, and his eyes rolled back as she began to 
stroke him in frantic quick movements, her fingertips gentle 
against the base, slipping between his thighs to massage his 
balls.

"God, Nancy," he gasped, dipping his fingers between her thighs. 
"God, you're so wet."

"Fuck me," she groaned. "Fuck me, God, hard, please, please, now, 
damn you..."

He stroked his fingers down, inside her, and her hips rocked up to 
meet him. She made a soft desperate noise and twined her legs up 
around his waist, and he leaned down and kissed her hard, their 
tongues tangling. Her mouth was open and she gasped against his 
kiss as he finally, finally, lowered his hips to hers, his fingers 
stroking down the delicate skin of her inner thighs. She cried out 
as he thrust into her, hard and quick and deep. She slipped her 
arms up around his shoulders and pushed her face against the hard 
muscle, screaming into his skin.

"Baby," he whispered, caging her in his arms, as she gasped into 
his shoulder and he moaned. He inched between her thighs in rough 
undulating strokes, and she cried out with each one, his breath 
against her temple, quick and harsh. She pressed her mouth against 
the base of his throat and groaned with the start of it, the first 
spasm, tilting her hips back, drawing him in close to her, and 
when he was full and thick between her thighs, so tight he could 
feel her breathe, feel her heartbeat, he shifted and made the soft 
relieved groan that came with the first clench of her orgasm 
against him. He thrust gently against her hypersensitive skin and 
she screamed again, into the side of his neck, her fingernails 
digging against his tight muscles. She cried out until she was 
breathless and whimpering, in pleasure and the edge of pain, and 
he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to the bed as he came.

He slipped out of her wetly, groaning, and her muscles tensed and 
loosed as he rolled to her side. She ran her fingers through her 
hair and laughed softly.

"Did I win?" he asked, his voice low and warm, tinged with 
laughter, and nuzzled against her neck.

"I think I did," she said, her eyelashes fluttering up as she took 
his face in her hands and brushed a kiss against his lips. "Unless 
you want a rematch to help me change my mind."