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That is until I hear him make his own low sound.
A sound of satisfied pleasure.
The sound of a man who knows what he wants.
He’s not laughing, and he’s not making any excuses. If anything, I can feel the electricity between us in his room, like a single movement from either of us could spark an inferno.
It’s enough to make me look at him, finally.
My shoulder is stinging with pain but it’s nothing compared to the flush of heat between my legs. The insane ache inside me that this man is creating just by existing.
God, I need him to touch me. I need those hands down there, all over me.
I try to speak, but the sight of him in the flesh is too much. It almost feels like I’ve wet myself and I gasp loudly when I feel my swollen pussy gliding against my panties as I try to turn, try to act natural.
He’s huge and far more handsome in real life than any photo could do justice.
Ah, Christ! The photo… I’m in his damned robe…
He doesn’t seem to mind.
I’ve never seen a guy’s...thing. Not in real life anyway, but I know it’s not my imagination when my eyes focus on his cock starting to swell right before my eyes.
It sets my heart racing, making the palpitations I had a second ago feel like low blood pressure.
My breathing is coming so fast I can’t even swallow.
I can’t take my eyes off his dick either. I want him to show it to me, I want him to order me to touch it, to bring him off right here, right now.
But he doesn’t, and I move my eyes away, worried if I see it again I’ll just burst. This pressure inside me is unbearable now, it feels like the slightest thing could set me off.
Oh god, please let him touch me.
He announces that I’m wet, making me flush harder. Like he can read my mind. Like he already knows everything about me.
I am wet, I’m so freaking wet it feels like I’m about to slide right across the floor.
I hear myself trying to explain myself like my voice is coming from far away. We both hear Valentine whimpering but he ignores him, and I notice his breathing is just as hard as mine.
The sharp pain in my shoulder aches again, and in a second he’s kneeling on the floor right in front of me.
“Conor,” he tells me, introducing himself.
“Rachel,” I gasp. I want to tell him who I am and what I’m doing in his house, about how I found Valentine.
But really, it was Valentine who found me.
It’s Valentine that’s made all this happen.
But I see the look in Conor’s eyes the second I have the same thought.
He leans in closer.
I know this is it, this is the moment I’ve always dreamed of, when the perfect man gives me the perfect kiss and everything that follows is just, well… perfect.
It feels like I’m looking over the edge of something, into something terribly deep and terrifyingly beautiful.
I feel that part of me wanting to let go again, feel myself giving in to the urge to jump, or just let myself glide over the edge.
Half-closing my eyes, I lean forward too, feeling the warmth of his breath as it almost touches my lips.
But I panic. It’s too perfect, and I’ve spent my whole adult life telling myself that stuff like this just never happens.
I recoil and hear myself babbling loudly, recounting how I found Valentine. How I ended up in Conor’s perfect house, in his perfect robe.
How someone like me came to be in his perfect world.
He looks almost amused. Disappointed I wouldn’t kiss him maybe, but then again, who kisses a complete stranger within moments of meeting them?
He thanks me profusely for finding Valentine, and for bringing him home, even though we both know it was the other way around.
His hands and arms reach out for me, but he holds back because of my shyness.
Or is it because of my thigh-ness?
I figure I’ve no real chance with someone like Conor anyway, that maybe I just caught a cold out in the rain and all this is just some fever dream.
But I almost faint when I feel his thumb on my chin. It’s the slightest touch, but I know we can both feel it. We both feel what it really means.
It’s like a live current running straight from his thumb, through my chest, and down to my now twitching pussy.
I can feel my clit straining against the fabric of my panties, my nipples like bullets.
But I also just want him to hold me, to tell me everything’s gonna be alright. That he doesn’t mind any of this, and maybe that he wants me to stick around a little longer.
I feel like I’ve known Conor forever somehow, like we’ve spent our whole lives just waiting for this moment, to pick up where we might have left off in a dream we shared.
