Page 115 of You're The One
His lips tip up on one side. “Do I need a reason?”
“Yes.”
He chuckles and buries his face in my hair, taking a deep inhale.
“Are you smelling me?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t even try to play it cool.
I rotate my hips, impatient to get this show back on the road, but he seems content to hold me. And smell me, apparently.
“Dom,” I grumble, resorting to clawing at his back now.
“Needy little thing.”
He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and I’ve got to say, I never thought that was one of my erogenous zones.
“Are we going to have sex or not?”
He shakes his head, his wet hair brushing the side of my face. “But we can do other things.”
“What do you mean?”
I grip his hair and tug until he lifts and meets my eyes.
“I don’t think we’ve beentryingto date long enough.” His voice is filled with amusement.
Smart-ass.
This isn’t the longest I’ve “dated” someone, but it is the most open I’ve ever been with another person. I’m not sure when, exactly, I decided I wanted it to be him. But once the thought landed, it stuck.
I want Dom to take my virginity.
Even thinking the words makes me cringe. It shouldn’t be something to give or take. I just want to be rid of the weight of it. But the longer I’ve waited, the heavier it’s gotten. The bigger the deal it’s become. At this point, it feels like a scarlet letter.
I didn’t stay a virgin for any moral or religious reason. I’ve wanted to have sex for a while. I’ve told myself I’d settle for anyone, but deep down, maybe I’ve been waiting for someone like him.
I should probably tell him. About my inexperience. So he knows what he’s walking into. So he can adjust his expectations.
But I like the way he looks at me, as though I’m strong. Capable.
Will that change if he knows? Will he go back to treating me with kid-gloves?
I don’t want to find out.
“What, do you have a three-date minimum?” I quip.
“Something like that,” he huffs. “And I have things to take care of first.”
His mouth trails along my jaw as his hand cups my breast. I’ve got to say, he’s a total clit-tease for someone with no intention of following through.
“That’s ominous,” I manage, breath hitching when he grinds against me, finally giving me some friction.
I’m starting to worry about the state of my linen pants. I can already feel the wet mess between my thighs and he’s barely done anything yet.
Is this going to turn into another getting-myself-off situation?
I wouldn’t complain, but I want more.
