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“Just me, huh? Well, I came a lot in the shower thinking of you. I liked to stroke myself while imagining you in all kinds of sexy positions. Taking you from behind. Filling you as I fuck you against the wall. Does it turn you on thinking of me stroking myself?”
I try to close my legs. The wetness is too much. That muscle inside me clenches and releases, pulsing to the point of being unbearable. His muscular legs spread mine open farther.
“I love fucking you. I think about it all day. You get me the hardest I’ve ever been in my life, Paige.” One of his palms covers my breast and rubs circles over my hard nipple. I want to respond, but my fingers have lost the ability to tap my phone. I can only moan and suck in trembling breaths.
He moves one hand under me, curving it so he can push two fingers into my opening. After massaging my breasts until my chest arches into his touch, his other hand smooths down my stomach and moves in a slow, steady rhythm over my clit, caressing the hard nub with just the right pressure. His tongue explores my neck, which I told him was okay as long as he doesn’t leave too much spit.
“What is it you like most about watching me?”
I respond with another moan. I like knowing he’s turned on, thinking of me, that he wants to connect with me so badly he can’t help but pleasure himself and come. How would it feel to have him finish inside me? I want Brody. Only Brody. His fingers are buried deep and all I can think about is wanting his cock to pound me until we both lose our minds, lose control of our bodies and senses. We’ll moan together, pulsing like sound waves, and it will be a beautiful release of two bodies dissolving into one. I’ll feel the love he keeps hinting at but hasn’t fully spoken.
“Fuck, the way you sound,” he says. “The way you feel.”
I lay my head back. Kiss me. Kiss me.
Without asking, he knows what I want. He can anticipate my needs, my words, before I say them. When we’re together, I no longer feel anxious about misplacing my phone. Somehow, he knows what I want to express.
Our mouths meet. Tingles pulse from my spine, extending through my limbs, my center, my heart. Our lips are everywhere on each other’s. It’s messy and wet and gross, but I want it. I need his mouth all over mine. I need our bodies together like this.
There’s a moment during each sex session when a switch flips in my brain and everything becomes too much—too much kissing, too much rubbing and aching, too many sexual touches without release. It could be a few minutes or an hour. Today, I anticipate the switch before it happens and stop his pleasurable hands before the frustration rises inside me. Before I Have. To. Stop. Today, I want these calm, bubbly, pulsing sensations to linger without becoming overwhelming. They feel so wonderful.
He sucks on his dripping fingers with a grin. “Couldn’t resist a taste.”
My cheeks warm. Then I cry. For no reason. I stopped before I got frustrated. I focused on the pleasure, like Brody said. I enjoyed it. It was wonderful. I need to savor these moments with him because there are only so many left. I shouldn’t be wasting our precious minutes together crying.
He gently brushes the tears away like it’s no big deal. Like I can just cry and he’ll comfort me without feeling bothered or annoyed.
“I’ve been doing some reading,” he says with soothing tones. “What do you think about trying a timer? If we have a set amount of time to enjoy each other, it will create a stopping point. Give it structure, kind of like a workout plan. When you go to the gym without knowing your routine, you’ll work too many muscle groups and slow your progress. I’m not suggesting sex needs to be planned or rigid, just structured. It might help you.”
I nod. I do like knowing what to expect.
“You don’t have to tell me that every time. I love this. I also feel selfish because I get to enjoy as much of you as I want.” His molten lips are on my neck again.
I close my robe and scoot to the edge of the bed. I’m ready to retreat. My body needs a break from the intense closeness. I need a break.
“I want to take you out.”
“A date. Can I?”
I’ve been on dates. They’re at crowded, noisy places that skyrocket my anxiety until I’m ready to spew whatever food I attempt to eat.
“Why? Even with me?”
He caresses the bed instead of touching me like he senses I need space. I curl inward more. He’s too accommodating. Thoughtful. Too caring. “Can I surprise you? It will be somewhere you like. I promise.”
Unless it’s the thrift store, I can’t imagine where he wants to take me that I would like. I study his face, the bits of stubble I know he’ll shave tonight, his defined nose, the blue eyes asking me to trust him. I trust Brody. Feelings I don’t trust. And he shouldn’t trust me. I’ll end up hurting him and that thought eats away at me more and more each day.
He’s done so much, though, that it seems wrong to say no to a date. He’s telling me what he wants, what he needs. I can’t ignore that.
“Okay.” He smiles, looking more handsome than ever.
“Yes. You don’t need to ask.”
