under two different definitions of the word."
"Please, Amy? Just once. It would mean a lot to me if you did." His eyes are sincere and pleading. He really does want me to come with him.
I let out a sigh, still not wanting to give in. Does this guy not realize how exhausting it is to deal with hormonal teenagers every day and get them to focus on Shakespeare and Hawthorne and a bunch of other dead white guys that most of them don't care about at all? Spring Break is completely necessary for teachers to maintain their sanity. Part of my sanity maintenance comes from catching up on my sleep. "I'll think about it."
He studies my face for a moment. "Okay. Think about it. I'll ask again in a few days."
I decide to change the subject, so I set down my glass of wine and move in to kiss him. The hand that's been resting on my thigh tightens, and his other arm moves off the couch and around my back, pulling me closer to him. He angles his head and deepens the kiss.
This is encouraging, him taking control of our kiss like this so soon. I'm normally the one trying to push things, so I'm enjoying letting him lead a little. My hands travel up his chest, tightening in the fabric of his shirt. Both of his arms are around me now, pulling me closer, and he's letting out a little growl of frustration that he can't seem to find the angle he wants.
Taking over for a second, I slide around into his lap so that I'm straddling him. His arms come around me, one hand sliding up my back to cup the base of my skull, holding my head where he wants it so he can kiss me.
I can feel his erection pushing against me, straining against his jeans. Almost unconsciously I start grinding down on him, wanting him to alleviate the ache that has settled between my legs. And I want to feel his skin. My hands slide back down his chest, bunching his t-shirt near his waist, pulling it up until I can slide my hands over his abs. His skin is hot to the touch, taut over defined muscles, the product of all those early mornings at the gym.
He groans into my mouth and then pulls back to look at me. "What are you doing, Amy?"
I smile a little. "I just want to feel you, that's all."
His eyes search my face, then he brings my head back down, my lips on his once again, his tongue sliding into my mouth, seeking and tasting.
I'm grinding on him again, and one of his hands drops to my hips, stilling my movements. I figure he must be getting too close and doesn't want to come in his pants, so I don't fight it. I just keep running my hands over the skin of his torso, up to his pecs, brushing over his flat nipples, feeling the sprinkling of hair that I didn't know covered his chest. As well groomed as he is, it wouldn't have surprised me if he waxed his chest.
He leaves his left hand on my hip, but his right hand slides down my back and sneaks under my shirt, hot and immediate on my bare skin. I let out a small sound of pleasure, making sure he knows I approve.
His right hand is soon joined by the left, running over my lower back and around to my sides, never venturing past the barrier of my bra.
Deciding he needs a little more encouragement, I break the kiss and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it on the couch next to me.
Scott's eyes widen at the sight of my breasts clad only in black lace. It's the first time he's seen me without a shirt on.
I lean in to resume our kiss, when I feel fabric being thrust against my chest. Then I'm toppled onto the couch, and Scott is up, pacing on the other side of the living room, running his hands through his hair.
He looks at me and looks away, his jaw clenching and unclenching. I'm on the couch, still half lying on my back, clutching my shirt to my torso, stunned by the sudden change.
"Put your shirt back on, please." Scott's voice is tight and low, and he won't look at me.
I sit up, my movements slow at first, but then quick and jerky as I shove my arms into the sleeves and tug the t-shirt back over my head. I
"Please, Amy? Just once. It would mean a lot to me if you did." His eyes are sincere and pleading. He really does want me to come with him.
I let out a sigh, still not wanting to give in. Does this guy not realize how exhausting it is to deal with hormonal teenagers every day and get them to focus on Shakespeare and Hawthorne and a bunch of other dead white guys that most of them don't care about at all? Spring Break is completely necessary for teachers to maintain their sanity. Part of my sanity maintenance comes from catching up on my sleep. "I'll think about it."
He studies my face for a moment. "Okay. Think about it. I'll ask again in a few days."
I decide to change the subject, so I set down my glass of wine and move in to kiss him. The hand that's been resting on my thigh tightens, and his other arm moves off the couch and around my back, pulling me closer to him. He angles his head and deepens the kiss.
This is encouraging, him taking control of our kiss like this so soon. I'm normally the one trying to push things, so I'm enjoying letting him lead a little. My hands travel up his chest, tightening in the fabric of his shirt. Both of his arms are around me now, pulling me closer, and he's letting out a little growl of frustration that he can't seem to find the angle he wants.
Taking over for a second, I slide around into his lap so that I'm straddling him. His arms come around me, one hand sliding up my back to cup the base of my skull, holding my head where he wants it so he can kiss me.
I can feel his erection pushing against me, straining against his jeans. Almost unconsciously I start grinding down on him, wanting him to alleviate the ache that has settled between my legs. And I want to feel his skin. My hands slide back down his chest, bunching his t-shirt near his waist, pulling it up until I can slide my hands over his abs. His skin is hot to the touch, taut over defined muscles, the product of all those early mornings at the gym.
He groans into my mouth and then pulls back to look at me. "What are you doing, Amy?"
I smile a little. "I just want to feel you, that's all."
His eyes search my face, then he brings my head back down, my lips on his once again, his tongue sliding into my mouth, seeking and tasting.
I'm grinding on him again, and one of his hands drops to my hips, stilling my movements. I figure he must be getting too close and doesn't want to come in his pants, so I don't fight it. I just keep running my hands over the skin of his torso, up to his pecs, brushing over his flat nipples, feeling the sprinkling of hair that I didn't know covered his chest. As well groomed as he is, it wouldn't have surprised me if he waxed his chest.
He leaves his left hand on my hip, but his right hand slides down my back and sneaks under my shirt, hot and immediate on my bare skin. I let out a small sound of pleasure, making sure he knows I approve.
His right hand is soon joined by the left, running over my lower back and around to my sides, never venturing past the barrier of my bra.
Deciding he needs a little more encouragement, I break the kiss and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it on the couch next to me.
Scott's eyes widen at the sight of my breasts clad only in black lace. It's the first time he's seen me without a shirt on.
I lean in to resume our kiss, when I feel fabric being thrust against my chest. Then I'm toppled onto the couch, and Scott is up, pacing on the other side of the living room, running his hands through his hair.
He looks at me and looks away, his jaw clenching and unclenching. I'm on the couch, still half lying on my back, clutching my shirt to my torso, stunned by the sudden change.
"Put your shirt back on, please." Scott's voice is tight and low, and he won't look at me.
I sit up, my movements slow at first, but then quick and jerky as I shove my arms into the sleeves and tug the t-shirt back over my head. I
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