She doesn’t. Not even when my hand cups her ass and pull her fully against me. Not even when she has to feel the length of my cock hard against her belly.
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she makes the softest sound of acquiescence. That sound, as small as it is, nearly wrecks me.
“You said I should ask again.”
“I said ask me in an hour. It’s been less than ten minutes.”
“I’m impatient,” she grumbles with a pout.
“Brat,” I chide, giving her ass a playful swat. Again, testing.
She blushes, her pupils going even wider.
So that wasn’t a no.
Okay, noted.
Not for today, but that’s something we’ll come back to someday. For now, for our first time together, I need to keep this simple. I just need to make her come without embarrassing myself.
I kiss her again, slow-walking her backward until her hips hit the counter behind her. She’s up on her toes already so I pick her up and set her on the counter. I’m immediately thankful for her skirt that allows me to step between her legs and for whoever designed her cabinets at the perfect height.
She groans again and I can feel the heat of her pussy through the fabric of my cargo shorts. It’s a miracle I don’t nut right now.
I pull back, just enough to regain a modicum of control. Pressing my forehead to hers, I say, “Tell me now if you want me to go slower. If you don’t want this today, I’m happy to wait.”
She releases a shuddering breath, but then leans back to scowl at me. “Happy? Happy to wait?”
I chuckle. “How about willing?”
She grins. “That’s much better. Unnecessary though.” She tips her head to the side and adds, “And potentially disastrous.”
“Disastrous?”
“This might be a Band-Aid we just need to rip off. I don’t have a great track record vis-à-vis thinking through our relationship on my own. If you’re ready forand, then so am I.”
That’s all I need to hear. I pick her up and her legs automatically go around my waist as I carry her out of the kitchen.
“The bedroom is—” she starts to say.
“It’s cute that you don’t think I clocked the location of your bedroom the moment I walked in yesterday morning.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” I admit as I kick the door open wide enough to carry her through.
Still carrying her, I pause just inside her bedroom to look around for her bed. The room is exactly what I expected.
Which is to say—exactly like her.
Books stacked on the nightstand in a pile that defies structural logic. A dragon figurine on the dresser beside a collection of markers organized by color. Fairy lights strung along the headboard. A quilt in shades of gold and green that looks handmade.
She bites down on her lip, watching me take it all in.
“It’s a lot,” she says, half defensively.
“It’s perfect,” I say. And I mean it.
She swallows.
