Page 68 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
James is the one to pull away.
“Why—” I have to pause for breath, to summon words. “Why’d you stop?”
He reaches past me and turns off the water. Shoves the shower curtain open, steps out past me without answering my question. There’s a clean towel on the rack, and he yanks it free, reaches for me. His touch is gentle as he pats me dry, runs the towel over my hair—which is cute and endearing, but he clearly has no clue how long it takes to dry hair as long and thick as mine. I don’t even care, though—not when he uses the towel to scrub himself mostly dry, and then reaches for me.
I take his hand, and he leads me out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. Closes the door. He turns to face me, still holding my hand.
“This is more than messing around in the shower,” he says. “No more messing around.”
I swallow hard. Step toward him; stare up into his deep brown eyes. “No more messing around.”
He steps close to me. We’re pressed up against each other—breasts to chest, cock to core. But still, a hesitation. Him? Me? Both of us. We’re both hesitant to move past this into…making it real, making it permanent. Even though we both physically want this, it’s an emotional decision.
James steps back, raking his hand through his wet hair. “I want you so fucking much, Nova.”
“I want you too, James.”
“I want this to happen…but I want it to be right. It should be a choice, something that we do together, not just something that happens because we’re both here and horny.”
I groan. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” I laugh, a bitter, resigned sound. “I want it to be right too, but…fuck, James. I want you.”
He chuckles, gestures downward at the straining evidence of his need. “I definitely get it, Nova.”
I clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. “My self-control is…not great right now, James.” I drop my eyes to the floor. “I want you, and part of me doesn’t care about…god, anything except getting my hands on you.” I lift my eyes to his. “Getting my mouth on you. Getting you inside me.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have any condoms.”
I groan a sigh. “No.”
He turns away, and he’s just as drool-worthy from the back as he is the front. That ass of his—tight as a drum and round and hard and I want to sink my teeth into it, get my hands on it.
God, I’m out of control with desire.
“I’m just trying to do right by us, Nova,” James murmurs.
His broad shoulders droop with the weight of this, of shouldering the burden of us.
He’s right. Messing around, fooling around, knowing we won’t be able to go as far as we want—at least not safely and responsibly…that would be just torturing ourselves.
But I just…gahhh! I’ve been dreaming of him. I woke up in his arms. I finally have him naked, have him in my home, naked in my bedroom, hard as a rock and begging to be touched.
How can I resist him? How the hell am I supposed to let him put clothes on and walk away from me? I can’t.
He braces his palms against my door, head hanging between his shoulders—the war he is waging with himself is obvious in his tortured posture.
“I fuckin’ need you, Nova,” he growls.
I feel myself moving, stepping silently across the room. I stand behind him, hesitating.
“James.” I hear myself whisper.
He shakes his head. “We’re not clueless kids, Nova.”
“I have been careful and responsible my whole fucking life, James,” I say. “Even when I was experimenting in nursing school, I kept my heart and my head out of it—it was purely physical. It was nothing but an attempt to bury the way I was feeling—heartbroken and alone.”
“That’s how I’ve felt for six years—heartbroken and alone.”
I move a little closer, and now I can touch him, but I don’t. Not yet. “After that, I did nothing but work. There’s been nothing and no one. Barely even myself, if you want the truth. It was easier to just bury my sexuality than to try to relieve myself, because I only ever ended up feeling more lonely and pathetic.”
He nods heavily. “Believe me, I know.”
I sigh. “I’m tired of it, James.” I watch his broad back heave with his conflicted breath. “I was always careful. Responsible. Even experimenting was a calculated thing. I kind of…I don’t know how to put it. I kind of watched myself go through that experimental, promiscuous phase with a mental and emotional detachment. It was never spontaneous. I never let it get beyond my control. It was never passionate, or wild.”
He’s still—very, very still. “What are you saying, Nova?”
I take another shuffled step closer to him, and now our bodies are so close to touching I can almost feel him—a spark of electricity crackling between us even though we’re not actually in contact.
