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“Fuck.” I break off, pull back, lick my lips. Her sweetness lingers. “If I don’t stop, we won’t be going anywhere.”
She laughs, a little husky, her eyes brilliant and dark. She’s affected by the kiss as much as I am, and the thought thrills me.
“Buckle up,” I tell her and drive her to one of my favorite places—an old, tiny bar close to where she works with low music and dark décor. They serve some pretty good wine, and she tells me to order for her.
That’s fucking hot.
I order her a good white wine and a red one for myself. She’s sitting so close to me our legs touch, and every time I glance her way, my eyes are inexorably drawn to her breasts. Then her glasses, and her warm brown eyes behind them.
I want to throw her on my bed, rip off her clothes, leave her in her shoes and those sexy librarian glasses, and fuck her hard.
My dick is an iron bar in my pants.
We talk about history and books and comics, but I can’t focus. I want her. I want to touch her. Pleasure her. Hear her moan as I go down on her. As I thrust into her.
Will she be on board with that? Is it too soon? It’s just that I can’t remember ever being so hard for a chick, a chick I also happen to like as a person, and it’s fucking me up.
Throw in the stress about not performing, and I can’t take this any longer.
“Hey, wanna head out?” I nod at the door. “Go someplace else?”
Her dark lashes lower, her full mouth twitches, and Christ, what is it about her? She’s not a super model—she’s short, curvy, quirky, but she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. The sexiest. I’m desperate to see her naked, to play with her body.
“Sure,” she replies and gathers up her purse.
I pull her out of the bar, back her up in a corner between a shop entrance and another shop and kiss her. Can’t stop kissing her. She tastes of wine and mint and pure sugar. She winds her arms around my neck and kisses me back, lets me take control of the kiss.
I like being in control. I like taking care of things, organizing, directing, managing. I’m taking her home. I wonder if Jet is home.
Next door to my bedroom.
He’d hear everything. And the thought shouldn’t thrill me. Behind my lids flashes an image of him on his knees in his bed, his hand between his legs—
I jerk back, take a few steps down the street, shoving my fingers through my hair.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” She’s right behind me, running with small steps in her high heels to catch up with me. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Fuck.”
I can’t. I can’t do this. No matter how pretty she is, I won’t come, I know it, and she’ll be left wondering what kind of a freak I am.
Why she’s not enough to get me off. The guy who slept with half the college. The guy who’s supposed to last all night.
“Joel—”
“Look, I have to go,” I tell her and see disappointment well in her eyes. Goddammit. “I’m sorry, it’s… it’s complicated.”
“Sure it is,” she bites out the words, and when I say nothing more, she turns around to go.
“Candy, wait!” I call after her, trying to think of something to do to make it better, to take it back, to convince myself to go through with my plan and take her home—but she ignores me, stomping away and calling a cab.
Christ. I’m an asshole. I fucked this up before it even started, like I knew I would.
With the one girl I really like. The first girl I’ve asked out in a year. The girl I can’t get out of my head, even though I still don’t know why.
Figures.
***
