Page 52 of Light Up The Night
"YES!" Her exclamation is unexpectedly intense, exuberant, loud. "It is a relief I cannot express. My mind is an internet browser with ten thousand windows open at once, each of them processing gigabytes of data at all times."
"No wonder you get overwhelmed," I say. "That much mental noise and activity all the time?"
"Precisely," she breathes. “Even asleep, I feel it. My dreams are that way, too, quite often. The only respite I get is when I enter the focused state of work…and now, most unexpectedly, with you….when you do…physical things…to me."
I squeeze her ass, cup the weight of each taut, plump, round cheek, relishing the privilege of this to a degree I can honestly say I’ve never experienced.
When I do, she exhales raggedly, burying her face in my chest. "Riley…"
"Fuck, honey."
"What?" she breathes, looking up at me.
“I’m greedy," I answer in a gruff murmur. "I want more."
"More?" she squeaks, her shrill whisper breaking. "Oh my. More how?"
"Should I show or tell?"
"Tell," she whispers. "And then show. If I know what to anticipate, I can more easily adapt to what is happening."
"In that case," I growl, gathering the material of her skirt in my fists, handful after handful, so the hem drifts inexorably upward; I feel her tensing with each upward inch of the hem. "I'm gonna lift your skirt up and put my hands on your ass over your underwear."
"Over?" she gulps.
"Yeah. Unless you give me permission to go under them."
"Maybe…" panting, she pauses. "Maybe start with over."
"You want me to stop, just say the word."
"Stop." It's a breath, a whispered syllable.
I immediately release the bunched fabric and move my hands to her waist. "See? You're in control, sweetheart. If it helps, I can tell you what I'm doing before I do it."
"That would help." She gazes up at me, eyes wide and shimmering with concern. "But I…I do not want to disappoint you, Riley."
This gets a bark of disbelieving laughter out of me. "Disappoint me? How on earth would you do that?"
"By asking you to stop."
"God, you sweet, sweet thing. You couldn't. You couldn't possibly disappoint me."
"But…what if you are enjoying something and I become uncomfortable and need to stop? Would you not be…at least a little disappointed? Or…perhaps frustrated is the better word."
I cup her face and look at her intently, shaking my head without breaking eye contact—until her eyes dance inevitably away. "No. Never." I kiss her, a soft but brief touch of lips. "Listen to me, okay? This? Getting to be with you like this? To kiss you? To touch you at all? In any way at all? It's a gift you're giving me, honey. I mean that. It's a privilege. An honor. I'm not gonna take it for granted, and I'll sure as fuck try not to push you to go further. And if you need to stop, that's what happens. No questions asked. No explanations needed. And I swear to you, sweetheart, I willnotbe upset."
My cock might disagree, but that greedy motherfucker can be insatiable, and with this girl, at least, I know I need to keep him on a tight leash. I'm gonna have to learn to tell that bastard to shut up and wait.
"I was only testing you, just now," she murmurs.
"I know."
She rests her chin on my chest, soft, small hands loosely cupping the sides of my neck, and gazes up at me, searching my face in that way she has—open, honest, curious, nervous, eager, excited, anxious, tender, strong.
She's the most complex human I have ever known. A guy could spend a lifetime getting to know her depths and never even scratch the damn surface. I've known her for less than twenty-four hours, and one simple fact is starting to scare me shitless:
I might be addicted to her.
