Page 3 of Such A Good Guy

She takes another sip of her drink and moves into my arms, with the easy, total confidence of knowing me for years, leaning against my bicep, her full lips searching for the straw. She’s a tiny bit tipsy, even looser and more relaxed than her usual introverted, quiet self.

“Men are dogs,” I say, and I’m rewarded with her throaty little laugh.

“Except you, I guess,” she replies, and I sway on the dance floor with her, my hand on her lower back, her tits smashed against my stomach.

I love holding Luna like this, feeling her body relax into mine, totally unselfconscious and trusting as she sings to the music.

She’s leaned back with an arm in the air, moving back and forth to the music, her full, generous hips grinding up against my legs with each beat.

Reaching down, I flick open the knife in my pocket and press the tip against my thigh. There’s already a hole in my jeans, because I have to do this a lot.

Then I dig the knife into my flesh, pressing until I feel a burst of pain.

I view the pain with clinical detachment. I don’t have any emotional reaction to it, but it’ll be enough to keep my cock from hardening.

Hopefully.

I don’t want anything to keep Luna from laughing in my arms, raising her drink in joy, pressing her heavy tits in the air, as if I don’t burn to touch them, lick up every drop of sweat going into her cleavage, cover her body with cum, bite her thigh so very hard, but gently too, so that I can taste everything sweet about her.

But I don’t do any of that.

Luna told me all women want is someone to respect them and be a gentleman.

So a gentleman is what I am attempting to be.

“it’s like guys don’t want families anymore,” she says in that melodic voice that would be going right to my cock if I didn’t have the tip of a knife digging into my thigh. She’s wearing a tight black tank top, just a touch of sun on her creamy skin, and she’s still arched backwards, so I can see the overflowing curves justinchesin front of my face. Her stomach is soft in my palm and I can feel my cock begin to twitch despite the blade bursting my flesh open. I press harder with the knife. I don’t want to stop holding her.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

My lips feel numb, the desire to kiss her throat, put my teeth over that pulse, almost uncontrollable.

Fuck

My usual methods aren’t working

My self-control is weakening

“I mean, I’m 27 now. I want to start a family. I wantbabies. But guys don’t seem like they want that.”

She raises her body up so it’s flush against mine now.

I can tell she’s not wearing a bra with the way her nipples brush against my stomach. They’re a little pebbled now, her face flushed, but I want to stroke and pinch them until they’re hard and tight. She shakes her heavy dark hair, the smell slapping me across the face.

“Romance isn’t dead,” I say. “You might find what you want where you least expect it.”

The words don’t sound right in my mouth, because I got them from a Hallmark Christmas movie we watched together, and she said it was cute.

The words I want to fucking say are:

I’m trying to control myself

But you’re mine

And if you want a family, baby girl, you are going to get it

“Want to get out of here and watch fireworks on the deck and then play cribbage?” I ask, since I know all of her favorite things.

And I lead her from the room as she tucks her hand into my arm, before my cock on her belly gives away that feral need for her that I have to exert every fucking muscle in my body to hide beneath the surface of my good-guy persona.

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