Page 117 of Into These Eyes
Then those hands slide under my calves and begin kneading the tired muscles. My eyes spring open, my lips part, and my breath catches as I hold back the sounds wanting to escape my throat.
He won’t meet my gaze, his concentration firmly on my bare legs as his fingers glide and grip and knead, never venturing higher than my knees. I close my eyes again, focusing on the sensation of his skin against mine, the way my body reacts to his touch. Another wave of arousal floods to my core, turning my mind to dirty, carnal thoughts I’ve only ever fantasised about with a faceless man. But now that man’s face is crystal clear. I know if I move a millimetre, I’ll feel how wet I am, how ready my body is to take him. His touch is turning me into an aching, flaming mess.
No wonder the one and only time I had sex was a disaster. My response back then had been fear, nerves and a hope that the physical pain would take me away from the hurt in my head and heart. And it had. For all of ten seconds.
This is something else entirely. That faceless man of my fantasies can get me worked up enough to orgasm when I need to relieve some stress, but it’s nothing like this. Instinctively, I know that this sort of craving can only lead to an orgasm that’ll leave me shattered and changed forever.
As if sensing my arousal, the pressure of his palms lightens as he reaches my ankles. When his fingers glide along the outsideof my calves with a featherlight touch, my skin puckers with goosebumps, heightening every sensation.
I open my eyes and meet the same intense gaze I witnessed this morning.
Watching me, his sensuous touch rolls beneath my calves until he reaches the sensitive skin behind my knees. His progress stops there, but he continues caressing that velvety, delicate skin, driving me crazy.
My thighs tremble with need as I dig my fingers into the couch, trying to remember the me I know, the one who only acts rationally, who’s always in control. But I’m spiralling, losing all sense of who I am. Is it possible to embrace a new me? One who’s capable of fully letting go?
Then he runs those fingers back down my legs, over the tops of my feet and toes, until he’s no longer touching me. My skin tingles with the after-effects, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need.
“Go to bed, Jamie,” he rasps. “You’re tired. And I want you wide awake for our date tomorrow night.”
“Date?” I breathe on a broken exhale.
“That’s how I’m looking at it. Is that okay with you?”
My mind reels with what he’s trying to tell me. He wants todateme? His blue eyes never leave mine while he waits for an answer. “Yes,” I whisper.
Lips twitching with a hint of a smile, he turns his attention to the TV. “Good night, J.”
Apparently, I’ve been dismissed. And I don’t even care. I’m so exhausted I know sleep will find me fast. After I have the quickest orgasm of my life. Because he’s right, I need to unwind, and he’s only succeeded in winding me up tighter.
Legs shaking, I rise, and make my way around the couch, I stop.
“Did you call me Jay?”
He turns enough so I can see the grin on his profile. “Yeah. Just the letter, your initial.”
Ridiculously pleased by that, I hurry toward my bedroom, every step confirming how slick I am between my legs.
In my ensuite, I rush through cleaning my teeth, grab a glass of water and place it on my nightstand. Stripping off my dress, I toss it on the wingback chair and throw my bra on top. I don’t bother with my pjs tonight. Instead, I slip between the cool sheets and turn off the lamp. That’s when I hear water running in the main bathroom. He’s cleaning his teeth.
Impatient, I wait until his footsteps cross the floorboards to his bedroom.
Letting out a long exhale, I reach beneath the covers, wrench down my undies and kick them off my feet. When I touch myself, I’m amazed by how slippery, engorged and fucking sensitive my clit is amongst all that wetness.
I could easily make myself come just like this, but I want to imagine him pushing inside me. In the darkness, trying to be as quiet as possible, I reach for the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Feeling for the knob with my fingertips, I inch it open, careful not to make a sound. I might be getting my vibrator, but it won’t be vibrating tonight. I’m sure he’d hear it through the silence.
Wrapping my fingers around the silicon, I toss it onto the bed next to me. With my throat a little dry, I blindly reach for the glass of water. And bump it with the back of my hand.
In a panic, I fumble for it. Too late. It crashes to the floorboards, shattering the silence.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
As I reach for the lamp, I hear hurried footsteps.
Oh God. He’s not coming in here, is he?
“Jamie?” his voice booms with concern from the hallway.
“No!” I shout.
