“I can manage my pants myself, but…” And suddenly all that bravado fails her as her words skip. “I’m having trouble with some of the buttons on my shirt and I can’t get the sleeve over the cast. It’s too tight.”
“Right.” Fuck. “How about you undo the buttons you can, and I’ll help with the rest. We’ll get your shirt off and then I’ll put the plastic bag over your arm and tape it on.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Serious. Sounds like a sound plan.”
I belt out a laugh along with that stupid breath I was still holding onto as I spoke. “And you’re not serious?”
“No. I’m nervous and had to lighten the mood before I passed out. You’re the one who looks like he’s about to march to his death because I asked for help with a few buttons.”
“You’re mocking me?”
“I’m completely mocking you.”
“That’s ridiculously unfair, you know.”
Her head tilts. “How do you mean?”
Does she really not know? “I’m trying to keep my mind out of the gutter. Something I’m not exactly known for doing all that well. I’m trying to be a gentleman because I told you my bringing you here was not about sex. I want to be someone you can trust and rely on. But you’re beautiful and curvy in all the places I love a woman to be curvy, and you’re asking me to undress you.”
“Wowzers. Okay then,” she murmurs. “That’s far more honesty than I was expecting.”
Her gaze drops to her chest, her cheeks that bright pink again and I’m guessing she’s trying to hide it. She immediately sets to work one-handed on her buttons, her hands trembling making her fingers fumbles and the task more difficult.
“Gonna be honest with you.” She laughs nervously. “This is not how I envisioned undressing for the first time in front of a man.”
“What?” stumbles past my lips.
Her eyes flash quickly up to mine before returning to her blouse. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. That meaning along with the expression on her face are as crystal-clear as it gets.
She’s a virgin.
Not just a virgin, but completely untouched if she’s never been undressed or naked in front of a man before.
Goddamn. I really am the ultimate piece of shit.
I close my eyes instantly, attempting to give her privacy, something I should have been doing all along. She is not here for my voyeuristic enjoyment. I realize now I’m in completely uncharted waters. When the hell was the last time I was with a woman this long who I wasn’t about to have sex with other than my friends’ wives or my family?
She starts to giggle, likely at my obvious discomfort.
“Gotcha with that one, didn’t I? I think you’re blushing, Keith. And how cute are you for closing your eyes so you don’t see my tits?”
I groan. Does she have to say the words tits like that?
“You’re learning all kinds of things about me today, aren’t you?”
“Shhh. I’m trying to remember the words to ‘Amazing Grace.’”
She laughs louder, nudging into me a little with her shoulder. “Open your eyes. You can’t help me blind, and while this is awkward and weird since we seriously only met a few hours ago, I’d like to get this over with so I can clean up and rest my head.”
“I’m trying not to look.”
“I know. Gesture appreciated. Now undress me already, Keith.”
I groan again. Louder this time. “Say my name again.”
She smacks my shoulder, and I can’t stop my dopy grin. “Only if you promise not to make any jokes about Pandora’s box?”
“I’m not going there, or I’ll say something about how I want to open it up.”
Opening my eyes, I instantly meet hers and then slowly trickle down her body, my heart already a jackhammer in my chest.
“Wouldn’t want that, now would we,” she quips with narrowed eyes and a half-grin. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Right. Undressing her.
She got through four buttons but had to skip a couple, and the moment I start to work on them, I understand why. They’re small and the shirt is stiff.
Unlatching the buttons from the loop isn’t as easy as it should be.
My hands press a little deeper into the dark fabric of her work shirt, and I catch glimpses of black lace and the full swell of creamy skin beneath. I lick my suddenly dry lips and continue down, hoping, praying, she doesn’t look down too because she’ll see that I’m harder than steel.
I finally manage the last button and she shirks her good arm out of the sleeve while I slowly, gently, work on the other sleeve. It’s not so easy to get it over the thick white cast, and there is a lot of maneuvering to do.
She’s standing here in that bra I caught a glimpse of; her chest is slightly angled away from me, the black shirt now hanging from her broken arm. She shifts again, attempting to help me, and dear God, does her chest have to be so close to where my hands are working? Do my eyes have to be trained on that very spot for me to be able to help her?
Her tits are… fucking perfect.
Pretty pink nipples peek through the lace, beckoning me, and I’m trying so hard not to look. Not to be that guy. I really, genuinely am. But they’re so close and she smells as good as I knew she already did, and I want her.
How? Why?
I can’t make sense of anything other than I’m so screwed it’s not even funny.
Finally, finally, I get the shirt off her, and she turns away, giving me her back, but it’s not much help. It’s just enough that I’m no longer teetering on the edge of picking her up and tossing her on the bed.
I take her arm, not looking, not thinking, hardly breathing, and wrap up the cast in the plastic trash bag I brought up, securing it on with tape so it doesn’t get wet. Every freaking one of her movements slams against me, and I cannot focus on anything but her. Her. Her.
Too young. A virgin. Too vulnerable. A virgin.
“Can you… um…” Deep shaky breath. “Can you undo the clasp of my bra?” Her voice is barely audible, but it’s like cymbals crashing through the air.
I freeze.
What was I just thinking? I had deterrent thoughts but suddenly the words bra and undo messed that all up.
“This bra is old, and the clasp is warped, and I… I always need two hands with this bra. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t—”
“It’s fine.” Just stop talking!
I stare at her shoulders. The slope of smooth, creamy skin over her delicate bones. The small half-heart shaped birthmark on her right shoulder. That’s where my fingers are itching to start. Right on that birthmark before dragging down along the fine lines until I reach her bra.
I bet the straps would slip down so easily, falling gracefully over her narrow shoulders. Her tits would be even more exposed, overflowing all the more as the lace cups lose purchase.
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t moan, tasting blood when all I want to taste is her. Before I can stop myself, I do exactly what my mind was just envisioning. Despite my inner voice screaming at me not to be a creepy asshole.
But her skin.
It’s milk and honey, and I want… no, I need to touch it. And when this moment is over and she’s in the shower, naked and soapy, I will be in mine, taking my cock in my hand to fantasies of her.