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His wrists flexed in my hands with his desire to be free. I squeezed them tighter and slowly pulled away before he could touch me.
Eyes that moments ago were warm and steady, now burned with heat, and it lit the fuse of desire low in my belly. My nipples tightened; my panties dampened.
I instinctively leaned towards him, licking my bottom lip, and his full, soft lips parted, inviting me home. Suddenly realizing I was succumbing to his charm, I released his wrists abruptly, and drew back.
He moved fast. With one hand behind my head, the other at my back, he yanked me forward and covered my mouth firmly with his.
I cried out against his mouth in surprise, but he swallowed it. I pushed against his chest even as I opened my mouth under his and hungrily stroked his velvet tongue with mine. Curling my fingers into his shirt, I hung on.
His hands gripped me tightly as his mouth moved expertly over mine, and I gave into the piercingly bittersweet pleasure of being in his arms.
I’d forgotten how right it felt to be near him. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, I desperately wanted to line up the rest of our body parts, cradle his pelvis with mine, twine my legs around his.
The faint taste of ouzo, the contrast between his sweet mouth and the soft rasp of his beard, his tongue tangling with mine, all worked together to silence the cautionary voice inside. I wound my arms around his shoulders and pressed my aching breasts against his hard chest. I squirmed in his arms and clamped my thighs together in an attempt to appease the demand at their apex.
His big hand, at my head, held me steady while he nipped and sipped at my lips, drawing my tongue into his mouth, licking his way past every barrier my brain attempted to erect. Oh, to give myself over to him, to not think, to let him take control! His other hand ran smoothly up and down my spine, from the nape of my neck to the top of my ass. I arched under his hand and pulled him closer.
He groaned deep in his throat and gripped my hair. Pulling my head back gently, he bent to trail his lips along my jaw, drag his tongue along my throat, press his lips to the juncture between my throat and my shoulder, his beard abrading my sensitive skin.
My head fell back into his palm.
I was ready.
Ready to take off my clothes and straddle him in the front seat of his car, parked in the driveway of the house, in which my son and my yiayia were (hopefully) sleeping.
Reality hit me like a blast of icy water, and I pulled back, my eyes wide. This was too much, he was too much, irresistible even. I scanned his face, looking for clues to I don’t know what, but he only looked back at me steadily, the fire temporarily banked.
“Goodnight, Ruby-mine,” he muttered gruffly. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
Twenty minutes later I got a single word text.
Home.
I realized I’d been so wrapped up in reliving his kiss that I’d forgotten to worry. I sent back an equally short reply, Thank you.
I climbed wearily into my bed, knowing that kiss had unlocked the door, and fell asleep within minutes.
