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12
Goddess
Juliana
I’mkissinghim,and I want it. I like it more than I care to admit.
I just met this man, yet I know he’s trustworthy. I know he’s safe.
Now I’m kissing him?
Logically it makes no sense, but it feels right.
My hands stay holding his face, and I expect him to reach for me. For him to touch me in some way. I expect him to grab me by the hips or thrust his hands into my hair. To take over.
Instead, I feel him melt. He sinks into the kiss and into me.
And it feels good. Our lips are pressed together, and it feels like we’re seeking the other within the kiss. After a moment of impatience, I bite slightly at his lip and hear a sharp intake of breath. He opens for me, and I take what’s mine. I explore him until we’re both breathless and panting. Then I pull away slightly.
I can feel him follow, and his forehead comes to rest against my own. It’s evident he misses my touch, but he never reaches for me or pushes for more. Not going to lie, the small high I feel from his restraint is thrilling.
Glancing down, I can see the evidence of his arousal, and I feel powerful knowing I’ve put him in this state. That I have that kind of effect on him.
Internally, I’m warring with myself. I shouldn’t want him. Especially not like this.
It’s reckless and impulsive.
But my heart and my body have different ideas. They’re winning too.
His eyes are still closed, and he’s waiting for me. He needs me to make the next move and decide where this is heading. I have a feeling if I wanted it to, everything would stop without a moment’s hesitation.
When my hand leaves his face, he opens his eyes. Staring straight into mine, he looks at me with such reverence.
He will never hurt me.
Not like that man.
He will never put his hands on me and force me to my knees. Never bind me so I’m helpless when thrown on a table, my knees pushed apart.
A small touch on my thigh brings me back to the moment, and the worry in Griffin’s eyes makes my pussy throb.
With my free hand, I turn and lightly push him back onto the bed. He falls with no hesitancy and puts his hands above his head. And all of his free will.
No one has ever given up control to me before. I never thought I would want someone to, but the weight of his trust settles over me. I feel the need for control building, and he’s giving it to me. I feel wild with power. The quick flip between despair and raging lust sends me reeling. I want to shove my darker thoughts down and live in the fiery lust building between us.
I want to be reckless with this man. Or rather, I want this man to be reckless with me.
“What do you want?” I ask.
I need him to say it out loud. I want him to confess he needs me to take over as much as I want to.
“What you need,” he says, his voice breathy. The simple truth of the statement sends a thrilling shiver through me.
“I need control. I need to be in charge.” His little nods of approval encourage me to continue. “I need your hands to stay above your head. No touching. Can you do that?” His final nod gives me the permission I need.
I let my hands drift to his chest, and my fingers explore all of the rippling muscles beneath his shirt. They journey to his arms and over the tattoos that only earlier today I craved to touch.
“How many do you have?” I ask.
