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The man has been playing me like a fiddle all day, his every movement like a caress along the ridge of my spine that had me brimming with sexual tension.
Every moment he had a chance, his fingers were touching me: playing with the strap of my bathing suit top or letting his hands accidentally brush lightly over my nipples, holding my hand and stroking my palm with his fingers, soft kisses when we were alone in the boat or the water.
To anyone else, it would naturally be attributed to our earlier sexploration in his childhood bedroom, his mouth between my legs, giving me the best head I’ve ever had in my life. For a person with a normal body, failing to get off would obviously keep them on edge all day.
But I never get off. I’ve spent years in situations like today, where I fooled around or did something sexual and never reached the culmination.
So what was different?
What about Boyd has kept me set on a low simmer all day long, my thighs constantly squeezing together, my core pulsing with need?
I was absolutely aching for him, and now, with his hands on my hips, that same desperate throbbing at my center has returned with a quickness I could never have expected.
“I’m really glad you came with us today,” he says, his fingers stroking softly against my skin. “It was a lot more fun with you there.”
I shake my head. “Thanks for inviting me. Hanging out with you and your family has been…” My eyes search his, trying to pick the right words. “Well, let’s just say your family makes me feel welcome here.”
He dips down and presses his lips against mine, our mouths opening so I can feel that slow stroke of his tongue.
Even just these kisses, the little movements of his tongue sweeping in and tasting me, tangling with mine, remind me of what it was like to have Boyd’s face pressed against my pussy, his tongue stroking right at the heart of me.
I might not have come earlier, but damn it felt good.
It was a shock to have Boyd shut things down once he was done going down on me. I can’t ever remember a man not wanting sexual favors reciprocated, but he talked about licking me as if that was the favor, as if it was a gift to him to just get the opportunity to do it for me.
I’ve thought a lot about that today, trying to reconcile his actions with the things I’ve always thought to be true about men. Just like the fact that Boyd doesn’t play games and really listens to me, his sexual behaviors are just another item to add to the list of what makes Boyd a man in comparison to all the boys I’ve known before.
Eventually, he pulls back from the kiss and takes my hand in his, leading us down the path to the front door.
“Tomorrow I’m busy all day,” he tells me, and I have to put in extra effort to not look too depressed about it. “Every year when I come to town, my dad, Bishop, and I do a guy’s day. It’s nothing fantastic—fishing, beer, whatever—but I won’t be back until after sunset.”
I nod, giving him an understanding smile.
As much as I would like it, I can’t expect Boyd to entertain me every second I’m here. I brought books with me to read, sudoku puzzles to complete. Maybe I can do some SUP boarding or go on another hike. There are shops in town on Main Street that I can explore.
“I understand,” I say. “Besides, I’ve probably taken up way too much of your time since you’ve been home,” I add, laughing and trying to make it okay for him to spend less time with me.
He shakes his head. “Don’t let that mind of yours make you believe I don’t want to spend every moment with you that I can. The best part about my trip home this year has been you, Ruby.”
I bite my lip, blushing at the intensity of his statement.
Boyd Mitchell, everybody. Unlike any man.
“How do you feel about doing a little drive together tomorrow night?” he asks. “There’s a pretty great view I want you to see.”
I grin and nod, eager to see him as soon as I can. It’s unlike me to jump so quickly into making plans with someone I’m seeing. It normally feels dangerous to do so because people so often let you down, but Boyd manages to make me feel like my importance surpasses anything else on his plate or in his life.
It’s a heady feeling, and one I don’t want to miss out on.
He kisses me again, soft and slow, his tongue licking into my mouth in that way of his that makes me slick between the thighs.
Then he pulls back and places a chaste kiss on my forehead—a signature move of his that I’m beginning to recognize and cherish—before giving me a wave and saying goodbye.
I glance at my watch: only 24 hours until I get to see him again. Let the countdown begin.
* * *
Most of Wednesday goes by without a hitch. When I wake up around 6, I take a towel out onto the patio and do an extra-long yoga session since I missed out on it yesterday when I was too busy grinding on Boyd’s face.
