hanging low he runs his fingers through his cropped hair. He doesn’t think I want this. He thinks I’m denying him because I don’t want him. God, he’s so oblivious! Can’t he see my trembling? Can’t he feel the palpable heat emanating from my body?
“No, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want our reunion to be about this.”
At my confession he looks up, his eyes tight. He quickly turns away, slamming his hand over a button on the elevator controls. We halt immediately. “About what?”
I sigh, uncomfortably. “About…getting laid. I’m just a guaranteed fuck, right? The jilted ex always is.”
Aggressively, he steps closer. “Don’t you ever think like that about us. We will never be about getting laid. I won’t ever just fuck you, Mickey. We aren’t about that.”
“What are we about?”
“You want me to tell you or do you want me to show you?” His hooded eyes and his gravelly voice collide to create a sudden shift in demeanor. He steps closer still, until we’re nose to nose. I close my eyes, pointlessly denying what I can feel happening to my restraint. My self control dissipates completely as soon as I look back into his hungry blues.
I give up.
I can’t fight it. The ache to be with this man for whatever I can get is too strong and it’s not going to go away.
“Kiss me,” he orders and I willingly oblige, needing no further encouragement.
Fireworks .
My hands are in his cropped hair and I push myself into him, wanting to be closer. In his kiss I find myself, I find us, reconnected and electric again. I find what I lost so many years ago and have searched for ever since. No substitute could ever compare to this. Our tongues tease, play, and dance until I’m throbbing with need for more. Chest to chest, hips to hips, our legs entwined as I feel his excitement pressed against me and rejoice in the friction it brings. Like magnets we press against each other, failing to be as close as we need to be.
Just seconds later he pulls away, leaving me breathless and weak-legged, leaning into the corner for support. He pushes a button on the wall that restarts the elevator with a jolt, and he is back within my space immediately. I guess that he must sense my fragile state, because his hands find my waist and he holds me steady. Pressing his forehead to mine he fixes me with his steely stare.
"How drunk are you?" he asks through heavy breathing, each breath mixing with my own, continuing our intimate connection. His warm breath smells just like he tastes, of mint and wine, a heady combination.
It must take me too long to answer because he lifts my chin gently, encouraging a response from my tingling lips. “Sorry…erm, not very," I lie.
“Stop wasting our time apologizing,” he says and I smile at the return of my words. “Stay with me," he commands and I intend on doing just as I am told.
"Yes," I inhale.
The feel of his lips against mine and his hands exploring my body blur the awareness of being guided into his suite. I think I hear the elevator doors open and close, and I barely notice his hand leave my thigh as he struggles to open the door, but I can’t open my eyes. I’m overwhelmed with the effect that his lips are having on me, powerless to his touch, until it’s gone. I am leant against a wall, no, a door, and Jesse has stepped back. My eyes are still closed as I try and find my breath.
“Look at me,” he says, his voice deep and insistent. I can’t. “Look at me, Mickey.” He steps closer and wraps his hand around the nape of my neck. My eyelids flutter open. Jesse’s eyes are set on mine, unwavering but pained. I reach out for him, finding fistfuls of his shirt, suddenly terrified that he’s going to stop this after I’ve finally abandoned my willpower.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, shakily.
He looks torn as his concentration flickers between my eyes and my mouth. “I just…I need to be sure that you know that this isn’t why I
“No, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want our reunion to be about this.”
At my confession he looks up, his eyes tight. He quickly turns away, slamming his hand over a button on the elevator controls. We halt immediately. “About what?”
I sigh, uncomfortably. “About…getting laid. I’m just a guaranteed fuck, right? The jilted ex always is.”
Aggressively, he steps closer. “Don’t you ever think like that about us. We will never be about getting laid. I won’t ever just fuck you, Mickey. We aren’t about that.”
“What are we about?”
“You want me to tell you or do you want me to show you?” His hooded eyes and his gravelly voice collide to create a sudden shift in demeanor. He steps closer still, until we’re nose to nose. I close my eyes, pointlessly denying what I can feel happening to my restraint. My self control dissipates completely as soon as I look back into his hungry blues.
I give up.
I can’t fight it. The ache to be with this man for whatever I can get is too strong and it’s not going to go away.
“Kiss me,” he orders and I willingly oblige, needing no further encouragement.
Fireworks .
My hands are in his cropped hair and I push myself into him, wanting to be closer. In his kiss I find myself, I find us, reconnected and electric again. I find what I lost so many years ago and have searched for ever since. No substitute could ever compare to this. Our tongues tease, play, and dance until I’m throbbing with need for more. Chest to chest, hips to hips, our legs entwined as I feel his excitement pressed against me and rejoice in the friction it brings. Like magnets we press against each other, failing to be as close as we need to be.
Just seconds later he pulls away, leaving me breathless and weak-legged, leaning into the corner for support. He pushes a button on the wall that restarts the elevator with a jolt, and he is back within my space immediately. I guess that he must sense my fragile state, because his hands find my waist and he holds me steady. Pressing his forehead to mine he fixes me with his steely stare.
"How drunk are you?" he asks through heavy breathing, each breath mixing with my own, continuing our intimate connection. His warm breath smells just like he tastes, of mint and wine, a heady combination.
It must take me too long to answer because he lifts my chin gently, encouraging a response from my tingling lips. “Sorry…erm, not very," I lie.
“Stop wasting our time apologizing,” he says and I smile at the return of my words. “Stay with me," he commands and I intend on doing just as I am told.
"Yes," I inhale.
The feel of his lips against mine and his hands exploring my body blur the awareness of being guided into his suite. I think I hear the elevator doors open and close, and I barely notice his hand leave my thigh as he struggles to open the door, but I can’t open my eyes. I’m overwhelmed with the effect that his lips are having on me, powerless to his touch, until it’s gone. I am leant against a wall, no, a door, and Jesse has stepped back. My eyes are still closed as I try and find my breath.
“Look at me,” he says, his voice deep and insistent. I can’t. “Look at me, Mickey.” He steps closer and wraps his hand around the nape of my neck. My eyelids flutter open. Jesse’s eyes are set on mine, unwavering but pained. I reach out for him, finding fistfuls of his shirt, suddenly terrified that he’s going to stop this after I’ve finally abandoned my willpower.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, shakily.
He looks torn as his concentration flickers between my eyes and my mouth. “I just…I need to be sure that you know that this isn’t why I
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