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“How was I to know you were going to come back? You gave me the best fucking kiss of my life and then just booked it out of here. Not to mention, the door is wide open. I’m not exactly up and ready to defend myself or get all my cats back in here.” I snark at him.
“Well, none of your cats are gone. They all bailed into the back bedroom when I busted in the door. I also don't know who you’ve been kissing, but I don't kiss someone like my soul depends on it and then just leave them helpless. Give me some credit.” Well, he can dish it as well as he takes it. I think I can work with this.
I bite my tongue and watch as he screws a piece of wood into the door frame. I don’t even want to attempt to make sense of how he has what is needed to fix a door on hand. It takes a bit, but he fixes the door jam the best he can. It works for now since he was able to shut and lock it. I’ll be fine until I can call Rambo or Turd to come and replace it all before my landlord sees it. I don't know how long I watched him, but I was more than okay watching his muscles ripple under his shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever been so captivated watching someone do something so mundane before. It was this moment that made it clear that I would have zero issues watching him do anything. Especially if whatever he was doing stretched and pulled at his muscles.
I want to trace every muscle in his back with my tongue.
I can see the sleek lines of his back that start to hide inside his pants when he raises his arms, and his shirt goes up with the motion. I want to continue the path with my tongue and find out what’s hiding underneath his clothes.
How I feel about him is euphoric.
When he turns and faces me, he looks at me with hooded eyes. I watched him lick his lips and pictured them wrapped around my cock. Would he blow me now if I asked him? Would he let me blow him? This may all be new to me, but I am ready to find out what these visceral feelings mean to me. I want to explore them. Would he blow my whole understanding of a blow job away? Would I be good at returning the favor?
“Sandy? Are you okay?” Whitley snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Even I can hear how husky my voice is. There is no way that it didn’t escape him. Plus, the tightness in my pants isn’t easy to ignore.
“I said, you need to get in the shower. I need to get these cuts from your cats cleaned out, and then I’ll help you re-wrap and put more cream on the bruises before I head to work.” Whitley holds his hand out for me to take.
“I am too broken to touch you right now,” I mumble.
He smirks, “I know,” he winks, “we can continue that interlude when you are no longer hobbled and broken if you’d like. But I need to get you set up, or I won't be able to do my job all day. I’ll only be able to think about you and if you’re okay. Please, let me help you.” His eyes are pleading with me.
“I can't go into that bathroom with you and trust myself not to do something. I have never felt this pull toward another person, let alone a man. It’s making me want to act almost irrationally and say fuck the consequences. I am going crazy. I have so many questions, so many things that I don’t understand, but what I am sure of right at this moment is that I want you. I can’t go in there, get naked and not beg you to drop to your knees for me. I can’t handle standing and moving, but all I want is to do everything that will cause me pain because it will give me you.” I shake my head. I’m trying to hold my ground, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to.
Whitley’s face tells me everything. I may have thought that he didn’t feel the same way, but it’s clear that he does. His eyes are screaming at me—showing me that he wants me just as much. But I can also see that he is fighting something.
“Sandy,” he whispers. “I want you so fucking much. But the way you reacted when I put my weight onto you, I can’t risk hurting you again. I can’t. It’s already killing me that I caused you even that small amount of pain. So, please. Get in the shower, and let me help you. You’ll feel better, and I will too.”
“You want me?” Of course, that is the only thing I take from what he said. Or should I say the only thing that I focused on? But with how new everything is to me, it’s almost reassuring that he feels the same. I don’t know how I would process it all if it was all one-sided.
“Yes. So much.”
“Tell me.”
Whitley groans and the sound travels through my body, lighting me on fire. He throws his head back, and I can see the strain in his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs. I’d never paid attention to that motion before, but I see the appeal. I have this sudden desire to lick it and see what he tastes like there.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Sandy, please don’t make me do this. Not when I can’t do a damn fucking thing about it.”
“You could—can—you can. I won’t stop you. In fact, I’m begging.”
“You’re begging me?”
“Yes,” I say in a breathy moan. “Yes. Please, tell me and then do it. Do it all.”
He drops to his knees and pushes his body in between my knees, bringing his face level with mine. His hands come up, and he places one on each side of my face, threading his fingers in my hair. He gets close to me, and my eyes close on instinct. I want him to tell me, I want him to kiss me. I want him.
I feel his lips graze against mine before he says anything. “You want to know about how if we hadn’t stopped, I would have kissed down your body, latched onto your nipples to find out if you liked having them sucked, twisted, licked. Then when you begged for more or for me to stop, I would have traveled down until I freed your cock from your jeans and sucked it into my mouth, not stopping until all of it was shoved down my throat, and I was gagging, unable to breathe.”
“Oh, fuck, yes.” I moan out, and my hips raise, reaching for anything to give me relief. I tip my head back, and Whitley’s mouth latches onto my neck, sucking and kissing. His beard leaves this brand new type of sensation that I already know I’ll never tire of.
“You want that? You want me to suck your cock?”
“Yes. Please.”
He gives me a bruising kiss. His moans almost sound painful. My body feels like I am floating on a cloud. I’m drunk on whatever it is that makes Whitley, Whitley.
