Page 50 of Bad Habit
“Okay.” She placed it lower this time, and then her fingers traced the edge of my shoulder blade, circling back up to my shoulder and neck.
Soon her other hand joined in, mirroring the other, exploring, pressing harder, then softer, as if testing my shape and texture.
“You’re so solid,” she said. “Are all men this hard?”
My butt squeezed as I fought against the part of me that was miles beyond hard. “I guess. Not sure. I don’t touch men much.”
“Much?”
“At all.” I groaned as her hands circled over my back. “At least not the way you’re touching me.”
Her hands slid over my triceps, skimmed my biceps, then up to the insides of my elbow and back around, exploring my upper arms and shoulders, taut from leaning against the window and from the restraint of not moving.
“Can you reach everywhere you want?” I asked her. She was average height for a woman, but I was six three.
“Enough. For now.”
Her tone was so serious, all business—or all science, perhaps?—but I could no longer see her expression to confirm.
I closed my eyes, fighting to think of something else, anything that would keep my balls from aching, my cock from straining, especially once she moved her exploration lower on my back, tracing the lines of my spine, my lats, my obliques, her fingers drifting both lower and farther forward with each pass.
If she dared touch my ass or my abs, I was going to lose it.
Every time her fingers circled my torso they got dangerously close to my “lose it” zones. I bit down on my lower lip so hard it hurt, desperate to transfer the focus of my nerves somewhere else, anywhere else.
My breaths grew heavy and hard, and sweat dampened my skin. Keeping my hips from bucking was a Herculean effort.
I should ask her to stop, or at least take a break, and I was on the verge of asking when she moved down to my legs.
Her fingers brushed over the hair on my shins and then dug into my calf muscles, testing their shape and consistency.
Opening my eyes, I caught her expression reflected in the window, her face between my legs as she crouched, studying my legs intently, with awe, like she was discovering new worlds. But I saw more than just awe in her eyes—there was desire, too, unless that was wishful thinking.
Her hands drifted above my knees. My quads flexed involuntarily under her touch, and I groaned.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked. “Or, I don’t want to… To make you uncomfortable.”
“Baby, that ship has sailed.”
Her hands lifted off my body, and she straightened to full height.
“Don’t stop,” I said.
“But I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“It’s a good uncomfortable,” I almost growled, then softened my tone. “I’m uncomfortable with my need for you, baby. Fuck. I’m so turned on right now. You have no idea.”
She was quiet again, standing behind me, and I could no longer see her reflection. Was this it? Had I ruined it all? Scared her off?
“Mac?” Her voice was so soft, almost inaudible. “I want you to kiss me.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard right, but then she kissed my shoulder, and her robe brushed my butt.
“But can you put on the robe first? I can’t… it’s too much. Is that okay?”
I nodded. “Okay if I move?”
Fabric brushed down my back, and realized she was holding my robe against me.
