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Scared that we’ll be forced to stop?
My hands climb under his shirt, my fingers shadowing his V line, as he tugs my head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue requests access and I give it to him instantly. Before I know it, I’m straddling him, legs on each side of his body, his chest flush with mine. We never stop kissing.
Until…
“Kass. Wait…” He pants. “We… We can’t.”
Certain this is where our lapse of judgment ends, I try and get off his lap, but he holds me in place. With every protest coming out of his mouth comes another kiss, another touch. He’s not letting me go.
He doesn’t want to stop.
I jerk his T-shirt over his head, in awe of his fit, toned body as I sway my hips back and forth and create friction, which, judging by his grunts, he definitely can’t ignore.
I’m practically grinding on him.
I’m sorry, who is she?
He’s hard as a rock, and my thin shorts make me feel… a lot, to say the least. I’m positive I’m in trouble when he traps my lip between his teeth and strips off my baggy shirt, undressing me so fast I barely have a chance to realize I’m in my bra in front of him for the first time.
His eyes rake over my body hungrily, and he swings me off his lap, pinning me down to the mattress and smiling at my white bralette, which displays bright, yellow smiley faces where my hard nipples stick out.
“And you blame me for seeing you as a good little girl?” he pokes fun at me. Refusing to let him mock me a second longer, I grip his dick. No warning. He sucks in a breath.
“Take it back,” I order.
“What?”
“You know what.” I tighten my hold on his length.
He smirks. “What? That you’re a good little girl?” He lures me back in to say against my mouth, “Something wrong with the truth, control freak?”
He once told me he thought I had no idea what to do in bed.
I’m going to prove him wrong.
Out for revenge, I unzip his jeans and wander a hand inside.
His eyes grow.
“Kass, you don’t have t—” he starts, but I plaster my mouth to his, gathering the courage to go all the way and grab him in his boxers.
“Holy shit.” He groans at my touch.
I push him off me, straddling his legs and yanking his boxers down to his knees in one move. He’s fully exposed now. There’s no denying it: this would hurt. When I spit on my hand, he responds with a surprised, carnal look.
I know, Will, I know.
Rest in peace, prudish Kass.
I lower my hand onto him, and he grips the blanket, a low “Fuck” escaping his lips, as he throws his head back. His reaction drives me wild. I work him slowly at first, then faster, until I feel him throb between my fingers. His eyes snap open, and he looks at me like he can’t believe what’s happening.
“Stop.” He jerks my hand away.
Fear fills me.
This is it. The part where he pushes me away.
The part where he runs.
