She lifts her head in challenge and says, “People want many things, but you don’t have to act on them.”
I reach out and cup her cheek. She leans up and I gently bite her lower lip. Then I let my hand slide down the angle of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, and down her arm to grip her waist. “All you have to do is tell me to stop and I will. In fact, I’ll go slow giving you ample time to stop and not let this go too far.”
Leisurely, I slide my hand down her skirt-covered thigh to land on bare skin. “And I will.” I squeeze her leg for a second, but I don’t let go. “There is nothing wrong with wanting me, Sam. And make no mistake—I want you.”
Her hand clamps on my wrist, but she doesn’t try to pull my hand away. We stare at each other, neither of us giving in. I lean in needing another taste. She doesn’t fight me. In fact, she fiercely kisses me back.
I take a chance and gradually slide my hand upward under her dress. Her grip on my wrist tightens, but again she hasn’t stopped me. When my thumb reaches pay dirt and brushes over a spot on her panties, I groan. Pulling back, I meet her eyes.
“Sweetheart, you’re wet. Let me help you get where you want to go.”
While speaking, I rub my thumb across her swollen nub a few times. She sucks in a breath and I lean in and take her mouth prisoner again. Soon, her fingernails rake over my skull as she pulls me closer. I slip my finger underneath the barrier that protects her treasure, my goal. She’s so ready for me my finger easily sinks into her warm depths. Her eyes are lost as she angles her lower half to make contact where she needs.
“Please,” she begs.
“Not yet, honey.”
With my free hand, I cup her heavy breast as I continue to work her, pushing in another finger. I have to see her. So I slip the straps of her sundress down and push the material away to expose her bra. The thin material isn’t holding her beautiful breasts up. They are fucking perfect. So I shove that material aside freeing one perfect pink nipple. I don’t waste time taking it in my mouth. Her pussy clamps around my two fingers and I continue to pump them in and out of her until she’s boneless.
My dick is still granite and can’t wait to be inside her. I scoop her up in my arms ready to take this to her room. She looks so fucking sweet cradled against me.
“Don’t fall asleep, baby. The night is still young.”
His voice comes at me like a crack of thunder. I jolt in his arms, coming to my senses. What the hell did I just let happen? He just got me off—okay, an amazing vagina-quivering orgasm—but still. He’s not much more than a stranger. I met him in the produce aisle, for Pete’s sake. I never do anything like this.
“Ben, can you put me down, please?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
His footsteps falter. “What? Why?”
“I really need you to put me down.” There is no mirth in my tone. He sets me on my feet so now I am forced to look at him. And much the pity because the man should have sparks flying off him he’s that hot. Cliché, but he is.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
“You might say that.” I have no doubt my face is the color of a bowl of cherries.
His questioning expression quickly morphs into a cocky smile and he stands there, all full of himself, like he’s the greatest prize ever. And honestly, he is. But I’m not quite ready for this yet. He rubs his chin and flashes a sexy smirk.
“Hmm. You sure seemed okay a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, boy. You had to go there, didn’t you?” This is such a weird combination of awkwardness and regret. I don’t know quite how to handle this.
His forehead crinkles and a tiny V forms between his eyes. Why are men always so damn clueless? Do I need to spell it out?
“I guess I wasn’t quite ready for that step we just took.”
His jaw opens. For a second he says nothing. “Maybe the fact that you let me get you off, and from the sounds of it, enjoyed the hell out of it, gave me the wrong idea.”
And I can feel his growing annoyance.
“You’re right. I take responsibility for that and it was great, I admit. But that’s as far as it’s going for now. I barely even know you.”
His eyes narrow for a second before he lets out a chuckle. “It was your choice. And you’re lying to yourself for some self-righteous reason.”
God, why does he have to act like such an ass? Lying to myself? He’s right about one thing; I’m starting to feel self-righteous.
“Is that so? How many women have you done that to that qualifies you as an expert in this field?”
Any amusement on his face has totally vanished and his gray eyes darken. “Enough.”
“And that makes you an expert?”
“I didn’t say anything about being an expert.”
“No, you didn’t. That was out of line. I’m sorry.”
“So what’s going on here?” He motions between us with his finger.
Isn’t that a good question?