Page 53 of Unruly
He raises an eyebrow but looks up at Tony. “I’ll have the same.”
“Want fries instead of rings?” Tony asks. “The fries are wicked good.”
“Sure,” Farnsworth replies, clearly unsure of the difference.
“It must be hard feeling so out of place.”
Farnsworth shakes his head, folding his hands on the table. “No, it’s fascinating. I have no idea what rings are, but I imagine fries are some sort of fried delicacy.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Rings are onion rings. Fries are just sliced potatoes that have been fried, but yeah, they’re good.”
“Very well.” He glances around the bar, his eyes lingering on certain individuals.
Two men stand up from the bar and walk over to the tiny open spot that’s become a dance floor over time. They stand close, dancing suggestively to the upbeat song that’s playing, and Farnsworth can’t take his eyes off them.
“Do you want to dance?”
He startles, turning his head sharply toward me. “No.”
“You sure? I like this song.”
“Doyouwant to dance?”
“Yeah. Come on.” I offer my hand and he takes it, following me shyly to the dance floor.
Once there, I put my hands on his hips and sway them back and forth. He’s stiff as fuck at first, but after a few seconds, I see his shoulders drop and feel the laxity in his hips.
The song changes to something even sexier, so I spin around him so his back is to me, sliding my arm around his waist and pulling him into me. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t run away, even as my cock swells. I’m positive he can feel it.
Taking a chance, I slide my hand up his belly to his chest, leaning close so my breath is on his neck. I can just see his expression in profile—frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Is this okay?”
Farnsworth nods. “Yes.”
I spin him around again so he’s facing me and step closer until our chests are pressed together. “How about this?”
“Yes,” he whispers, flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, letting them hang awkwardly by his sides, so I offer a solution.
“You can touch me.”
“Oh.” Slowly, he raises his arms and puts his hands on my shoulders, very properly. “Like this.”
“Whatever feels good to you.”
Holding my gaze, he slides his hands to my back, gently gripping my muscles. He swallows hard before going just a little lower to my waist. With my arm around him, I shimmy and grind just a bit, waiting for his reaction to tell me whether I should continue or stop.
“Is this… n-normal?” he asks.
“Normal?”
“For colleagues. Or perhaps friends.”
“Sure.” I brush my fingers under his chin, gazing into the cloudy skies of his eyes, my thumb rubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “There really aren’t rules. We can do whatever we want.”
“But, I mean… I suppose what I’m asking is…” He pauses, obviously flustered.
“What?”
