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“There is every reason.”
He starts to turn around, and his mouth falls open at the sight of me. The weight of his stare sends goose bumps racing over my arms while he licks his lips and stammers. “You should... should… cover yourself...”
“Why are you breathing so fast? Is it because you like what you see?” I can't believe I'm doing this, saying this, but I don't want to stop. For the first time in forever, things feel right. Like this is the way it was always meant to be.
“Look at me,” I plead in a whisper. “There's nothing wrong with wanting me. I'm a grown woman, and you’re a grown man.”
“I'm too old for you.”
“I don't think so. I think you're the perfect age. And I think...”
I lower my gaze to the huge bulge in his gray sweatpants. “I think you know what you want. If we both want the same thing, what's so bad about that?”
“You know what’s—”
“I only know I want you to touch me. Touch my body. I’ve wanted to say those words to you for years.”
He swallows hard. “I've wanted to hear them. Christ, what am I saying?”
Oh my God.I've got him.
I've really got him. He's exactly where I've wanted him to be for years: in the palm of my hand, admitting he wants me. He can try all he wants to fight it, but it's no use. He hasn't taken his eyes off my chest since he turned around. I see the hunger in his eyes. I see how he wants me, no matter how he tries to fight it.
He only needs a little help to push him the rest of the way over the edge and into my arms.
“So you know I was in your room today?” I lean back on my palms, arching my back a little so my boobs stick out farther. His soft groan gives me more confidence. “Do you wanna know what I did on your bed?”
“Rose, you shouldn't do this.” It’s almost a whine like he’s begging me instead of ordering.
“I touched myself,” I confess, and I don't know if it's shame or excitement that makes me blush. “I touched myself until I came, and I was thinking about you the whole time. Imagining you were there with me. All the things I’d want you to do to me if you were.”
“Oh my God,” he groans. Sweat’s starting to bead on his forehead.
“Should I describe those things to you? Or do you want to come over here and do them? Because I have waited a long time for it. I’m tired of waiting.”
My heart stutters, and a flash of fear races up my spine before I whisper, “And I know you want me just as much. We’re two adults. Why should we suffer if we don't have to?”
I can’t believe I got it out before losing my nerve.
He rubs his hands on his thighs, grunting softly with every breath. “We could never, ever tell Liz.” He even winces a little when he says her name.
“Of course not. It would just be between you and me. Our little secret.” As I speak, I pull back the blanket so he can see my bare legs. Legs I spread slowly, staring at him and watching his reaction.
His eyelids lower before he takes one slow step toward the bed, then another, until finally, he's standing in front of me with his dick sticking out so close I could rub my face against it.
I don't, though, since I'm not sure what I would do after that. I’ve never been here before, have never let anybody see my body. I’ve never touched a man—though I’ve watched videos, so I know a few things.
If he wanted to put it in my mouth, I would. Anything for him. So long as this doesn’t have to end.
“Fuck, what am I supposed to do?”
He sounds tortured, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching for me. Slowly, so slowly, and I hold my breath waiting for him to make contact.
When he does—when he runs his fingers over my jaw—I can’t help but shudder in relief. In pleasure. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, gazing down at me with those piercing eyes I’ve dreamed about for so long. “Perfect and young. Too good for me.”
“That isn’t true.” I close my hand around his and slide it over my throat, then my chest. “You’re what I want. I’m yours.”
We both moan when his palm runs over my already tight nipple. It feels so good, I could cry. I’ve touched myself to the thought of him so many times, but it was never like this. He’s what’s been missing all along. Not the idea of him. His touch, his warmth, the sound of his helpless groans while he cups my breast. It fits perfectly into his palm. I was made for him.
