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Her skin is too sensitive, her desire just a little bit too strong. The pressure, the need, is already building up inside her even as she pulls the hand brake and opens her car door. And the only thing that can fix it, she knows, is to have someone release that pressure.
Someone big and strong and everything she wants. Philip Callahan. She's practically pulling him down out of the cab of the truck only seconds after he pulls up behind her. She doesn't have the patience to wait to get inside.
It's dark already out here, and warm enough to keep from getting a chill, so the jacket that had impressed so well on him gets shoved off his shoulders, his shirt unbuttoned as she fights to get all the clothes off that she can before either one of them have a chance to think.
His lips taste her neck, his teeth biting in just enough to draw a gasp. Her breasts fill his hands, the soft pressure enough to send her hyper-sensitive nipples wild, her skin tightening and nipples hardening and someone becoming even more sensitive.
He groans into her throat as her hand finds the hardness inside his jeans, his hips pressing mindlessly into her palm in an animal effort to find whatever pleasure that his body can take.
The strap of her dress gets shifted off her shoulder and he pulls out a plump breast, pulling the tight nub of her nipple between his teeth. The pressure of arousal inside her, already too much to bear, continues to grow until it's all that she can think about, consuming all her thoughts and her entire world.
And then, as suddenly as she realizes her need, and as incapable as she is of fighting it, he stops. His breaths come hard and ragged, and she leans in to take his lips back. His hand presses into her chest and holds her back.
"No," he says. She stops.
"What's wrong?"
He looks down at her. She can see the arousal still in his eyes. She can see the way that his eyes linger on her bare breast, the way that he toys with the idea of picking right back up where they left off.
And then, very carefully, he pulls the strap of her dress back up, slips the fabric back into place.
"I'm sorry. We shouldn't have done this."
Her teeth grind together. "What's wrong?"
"All of this. We shouldn't have done any of it."
Her body wants to scream. Her mind wants to scream. And more than that, her pride isn't exactly enjoying it, either.
"So, what, then?"
"Nothing. You should go."
She takes a step back. "Yeah, I guess I should."
"Are you alright to drive?"
"I'm fine," she says. She never wanted anyone's pity. Pity makes her sick. But worse than that is pity from him. Pity right as she's being told that she can't be trusted to make her own decisions.
She stalks off to her car. The door slides open easily, and she lowers herself into the seat.
"Morgan, I—"
"I get it. Don't worry about it. I understand completely."
And the truth is that she does understand. There's no part of her that doesn't get why he's pulling back. But that doesn't change how she feels, and it doesn't change how badly the need had effected her.
She was an idiot for putting herself in this position. An idiot. But at least she was an honest idiot, right? That's what counted.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, maybe. In a couple of days." Her voice sounds hard. She sounds like she's being a bitch, and if she could stop it, then she would. But she can't.
"Okay. Drive safe."
She will. Or she won't. "Sure."
The car growls softly as she drives it away. It seems so easy when she's doing it. When the car moves, it moves on its own. It doesn't back off at the last second. It doesn't leave her in a frustrated mess in the middle of god damned Wyoming.
But he's made his decision, and she's going to respect it. Regardless of whether or not she likes it.
