Page 40 of Quarantined
I can feel myself getting wet.There is atightening growing low in my stomach. Even if we should, I can’t find myself to care or will myself to stop. He is amazing at what he is doing.
Milo impatiently pulls my shorts down. He hasn't made a move to touch my bare skin yet.
I am impatient. I want contact. I can't wait a second longer.
“Have you been with anyone before?” His husky voice startles me. Neither of us have spoken for so long; I forgot we could use our vocal cords for communication.
I stare at him with a stupefied look, then slowly shake my head for ano. How can he ask that question so casually, like he is asking me for the time?
"Do you want me to stop?"
Hell no. Not anymore. I want relief. And I want it now.
I shake my head as anoagain. I don't even care what his reasons are. I don't want to break this spell by talking.
"If you haven't been with anyone, we should wait," Milo murmurs in my ears.
As if he can hear my perverse thoughts, he follows it up with an alternate solution. "We can do other things. But we can't go further than touching."
And with that, Milo slowly starts to rub against my clit. I can almost hear how wet I am. Moaning and thrashing, I only come back to focus as I feel his hardness against my leg. I look down to see Milo’s tented crotch through his pants. Milo follows my gaze. I lift my eyes to look at him. He is lying on his side, one hand propping his head up. The other is still caressing me.
Locking eyes with Milo is too intense. But I don’t know where else to look. Looking down at his hand pleasuring me is awkward. Closing my eyes seems impersonal. So instead, I pervertedly look back down and stare at his tented crotch as his hardness lengthens against me.
Slowly, Milo pulls his fingers out from between my folds. He undoes his belt buckle and unbuttons his jeans. I hear the zipper of his jeans before I see him lift his hips to pull his jeans down, taking his boxers with them. His dick whips out, and all I can do is stare.
Milo continues to undress, as he grabs the hem of his shirt to pull it off over his head. He is completely naked.
I can’t stop staring at him. He is ripped. No fat. Solid muscle. Broad shoulders and chest. He always had a nice body, but over the summer... damn! He has defined abs, and the veins stand out on his arms. He looks like what you would imagine if Channing Tatum and Ryan Gosling had a baby.
Women threw themselves at him all the time. Beautiful women. Models. I have seen it. I have heard women pine over him. Women who are perfect tens. So what is he doing here with me?
Does he feel sorry for me, because I said I loved him? Is he "throwing me a bone" because he feels bad? Is this a pity hook up?
Does he think if he fulfills my fantasy, I'd get over my “infatuation” and move on with my life, instead of running away to Paris?
Or is it possible that the oldest, most desirable Sinclair wants me?
As I bulldoze questions and possible scenarios through my mind, I know the last speculation is untrue. Though it’s a flattering thought, someone like him could never be interested in me. He is a God among mortals. I am a high school kid.
So what is it that he wants with me?
Milo doesn’t do relationships. With his responsibilities, schoolwork, the new app, and household obligations (one of them being me), there has never been enough time for a girlfriend. As a result, the extent of his romantic relationships has been “friends with benefits.” Many of whom wanted more, but it wasn’t in the cards for him.
Being the good guy that he is, Milo makes that clear to women. If they still choose to pursue him, they can. He’d never steer or misguide anyone. Which means he wouldn’t do that to me either.
Yet, this seems wrong.
Milo is on his side again; once more, his head is propped up by his elbow. He is quietly studying me, his eyes moving all over my face. Milo trails his fingers back down to my shorts. I almost jump from the sudden movement.
“It’s okay, baby. I just wanna touch you,” he whispers as his fingers slip back in.
Baby?
What are we doing? We need to stop. I almost formulate a word, but I can’t spit it out. Milo makes me feel like a petulant child, one who should always do as he says.
“Ahhh…” I whimper, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Suddenly I am a blank canvas with no more thoughts left—a Tabula Rasa. Nothing exists except for his fingers.
“Baby, touch me while I touch you.”
