Page 132 of Fighting the Pull

I drank him in. His jeans way more faded, specifically (and enticingly) around the crotch. On top, what appeared to be a faded, vintage, brown OP T-shirt that clung to his pecs and was loose at his stomach. He had more color to his skin, which probably meant his daily runs were on the beach. His hair was mussed from the Jeep ride, and it was longer.

“I love how excited you are, baby,” he said softly. “But I need that sweet ass upstairs, stripped down to panties and bra, waiting for me in my bed.”

I stood still, feeling my panties get damp.

“Now, Elsa,” he ordered. “First room to the left.”

I moved to him, and he didn’t shift so I could get by him unless I squeezed.

He caught me around the middle as I did that, his hand right under my breast, his thumb reaching out to stroke me on the underside.

My legs started trembling.

“We’re good, right?” he asked.

I knew what he was asking. We’d talked about it before he left New York. He’d get tested, I would too. And I’d re-up my prescription of birth control pills and start them, something I’d done.

We’d shared our results, and we were both negative.

But it was sweet he was confirming I was ready.

“Yes, we’re good, honey.”

“Good,” he murmured, didn’t kiss me, just stroked the swell of my breast once more, then let me go.

I finished squeezing by him and hustled up the stairs.

I really wanted to take time to enjoy his bedroom, with his bed that had a high, block-patterned, cushioned white headboard. There was chrome and sleek crystal and parquet floors and amazing views of the ocean, which the bed faced.

But I didn’t really take it in as I flipped off my pumps, pulled off my jeans, my cardie, my tee, the scarf I had tied around my neck, tossed them all on a chair that was angled to the view, and I climbed into the center of his bed, curled my knees to my chest and held them there.

I was trembling with anticipation, so although he didn’t make me wait long, it felt like it took forever before he walked in.

He came to stand at the foot of the bed, where a taupe-cushioned bench with chrome legs was positioned.

“You touch yourself while I was gone?” he asked.

Oh God.

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly.

“I forgot to tell you not to do that,” he muttered.

I shivered.

“You think of me when you did it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I repeated.

“What’d you think about, baby?”

I licked my lips.

“I-I missed…I missed…” Why was I stammering? “I missed it all, honey. But I love sucking your cock.”

“All right then.”

It was an invitation, I knew. One I was going to accept.

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