Page 67 of To Go
“And what do I want?”
“You want anything I can give you, sunshine.”
“You’re kind of an arrogant prick, are you aware of that?”
“But I’m right,” he counters. He is, and I hate it. We stand there next to each other, quietly watching the people around us celebrate and dance, and all I want to do is take his hand. He makes small, imperceptible movements until we’re so close to each other, all I would have to do it stretch out my pinky finger—
“Wanna get out of here?” His voice sends shivers down my spine as his breath whispers across my shoulder. I don’t answer, I just nod. “I’m going to start the car. I’ll meet you in the back.” And then he’s gone.
I take a few minutes to say goodbye, cheers a few people who are still soaked in champagne, and hug my friends. I hold onto Hazel extra long, so happy for her, even though something in myheart aches like it’s been kicked in the crotch. My heart-crotch, if you will.
“I’m so happy for you,” I say into her ear, her heartbeat still pressed to mine. She leans back to look me in the eye.
“Thank you,” she sniffs, her eyes still teary, “I’m really happy too.”
My lungs squeeze as I hold her a moment longer. I congratulate her and Beck again before I excuse myself and sneak out to the alley. As promised, James has the car running, his passenger seat heater on for me as I slide in. He flashes me the briefest smile before we take off into the night, leaving our friends and their promises of forever behind us.
The more time I spend with James, the less I feel like I need to fill in the silent moments with music, with chatter, to make the moments comfortable. With him, they just are. There’s a steadying assurance when I’m with him that there aren’t any requirements, any expectations except to be there with him.
He takes my hand when we get to his apartment, leading me up the stairs behind him. I unashamedly stare at his backside as I thank my lucky stars that I had enough forethought to plan myentireoutfit tonight. He grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge and I make an excuse to slip into the bathroom to get myself ready
“Don’t take too long, sunshine,” he whispers against my mouth, giving me a searing kiss before he lets me go.
I look at my reflection when I’m ready, taking deep breaths. The confidence I had when I first put this on is starting to wane. What if he doesn’t like it? What if I’m taking things too far?
You are a sexy, slutty, sex-muffin and this is not presumptuous. You can do this.I give myself one more look-over and steel myself.When I emerge, James is sitting on the couch, a glass of chardonnay in hand, facing away from me. As he hears me come towards him, he turns and freezes. His mouth hangs open as he takes in the whole look.
I’m draped in flimsy purple silk slip that grazes my mid-thigh, right where it meets the scandalous black stockings and garter I’ve been wearing all night. It fit perfectly under my dress tonight, no one the wiser about it, and there’s a thrill in revealing it.
I take my time walking to stand between his spread thighs. He’s methodical in the way he runs his hands up my legs, over my ass, his face pulled in concentration. The way he takes me in is exact, like he’s trying to memorize this moment.
“Did you wear this to get my attention, sunshine?” he asks, discarding his wine on the coffee table. I nod my head timidly, losing a little bit of the confidence I had under his scrutiny. “And now that you have it, what do you want?” His fingers dance down my spine, making me shiver. My nipples stiffen and poke out visibly under the buttery silk, he groans before dipping his head to pull one into his mouth through the fabric. My back arches into his touch, pleading for more contact.
“More.” My voice comes out breathy, and his rumbling response ripples through my ribcage. I don’t register what’s happening until I’m suddenly laid out on the bed and he’s standing in front of me, drinking in the view.
“Off,” he says, dragging his nose across the front of my dress before backing off. I lean back on my hands to look up at him. I gesture to his own, intact, outfit.
“Off.”
Without looking away, he slowly removes each piece of clothing, his gaze heating. My breath quickens with each article discarded.
When he’s standing in front of me, fully nude, his solid length bobbing in front of him, he raises his brows in challenge, nodding at my dress. I cock my head, stand, then push the thin purple straps off of my shoulders one by one, letting the fragile silk piece flutter to the ground.
His mouth hangs open as he takes in the part of my outfit he hasn’t seen yet.
I squirm in my stockings and garter, which match the black, lacy, nearly see-through thong that is giving away the growing wet patch between my thighs. His eyes dart around my body, unsure of where to start. Seeing him overwhelmed at the sight of me heats my blood. I need his hands on me. I need friction.
I just need him.
I fall to my knees, taking him in my hand and stroking him before pulling the crown into my mouth. I wrap my lips around him, moaning around his length as his salty skin glides across my tongue. I’m being guided by instinct, reading his reactions. His eyes squeeze shut as his muscles clench under me. I feel him grab my hair, steadying himself.
I did that. Power rushes through me at the realization that I’m able to bring him to heel with a simple touch.
Well, not simple. I gag as he tries to fill my throat, forcing me to breathe through my nose. He pets my face as I look up at him through tears.
“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m going to come if you do that again.” My core floods with arousal.
This is how I die. Death by horniness.
