She huffed a laugh that dissolved into another moan as I tongued her nipple through the fabric of her shirt.
“I bet you could convince—” she started, but then her breath hitched as I rolled my hips, wanting her to feel the hard press of my cock, wanting her to know how much her refusal tortured me.
Her fingers spasmed at my shoulders. I sucked her nipple into my mouth through the silk, giving it a punishing nip.
She cried out, but she also shook her head. “No. No, we shouldn’t,” her voice was high-pitched and whiny, and I don’t know why I loved the sound of it paired with the words she’d spoken, but I did.
I swept my thumb back and forth over the wet patch of her shirt. “Just let me touch your skin, here,” I said.
Her body shuddered; her hands were everywhere, now sliding under my shirt but not pushing it off. “No. No, Jason.”
I knew she’d say no. Somehow, I knew, no matter how much I asked, no matter how good I made it for her within these boundaries she’d set, she was going to say no. And somehow, I also knew she wanted me to ask, to push, to make things harder for her, to torture her in return, maybe even to beg.
“I want you so much.” I continued using my tongue to toy with her breast, employing a hand splayed on her lower back—and still above the fabric of her clothes—to pull her closer. I wanted her closer. I wanted to be surrounded by her.
Rolling my hips again, I ground out, “Do you feel that? That’s what you do to me.”
She pressed down, grinding her fully clothed open legs against my equally clothed erection, and it was all so damn sexy for some reason. Why were her denials and obstruction so exciting?
Knowing we weren’t allowed to do more than this, this groping and petting over my T-shirt and jeans and her business attire, knowing this was all that would happen and wanting so much more, had me perilously close to coming.
Which meant now I was the one saying, “No. Wait—gorgeous—wait a minute,” and pulling her hands from my body and turning my face to the side to avoid her lips.
I wasn’t coming in my pants like a fucking teenager. No. No way. I. Would. Not.
Diane rocked on top of me again and I sucked in a breath between my teeth, my hands released hers to grip her hips. “Stop,” I demanded. “Hold still.”
She did. She held perfectly still except for the rapid rising and falling of her chest.
I also struggled to catch my breath, slow the beating of my heart, and communicate to my dick that blue balls were on the horizon. I’d touched her body, but I hadn’t touched her skin. And yet she had me wound tight, searching for an unsexy thread of a thought and finding nothing but carnal wishes.
What I needed was this woman off my lap.
Firmly, I lifted her hips and set her aside. I then stood and stiffly paced over to the kitchen, leaning my hands against the center counter and bowing my head. I breathed in. I breathed out. And I didn’t allow myself to imagine how disheveled Diane must be after our groping, grasping make out session.
“Are you mad at me?”
I shook my head. “No. Just need a minute.”
A pause, then, “Should I go?”
“I hope you don’t.” I knew my words were tight and short, but I was still so damn hard and it wasn’t getting any better. The sound of her voice, knowing she was right there but entirely out of reach was doing crazy things to my head.
“I’ve never done that before,” she said, and it sounded like she was talking to herself.
“What’s that?”
“Made out with someone.”
My head came up and I straightened from the counter. Looking over my shoulder at her, I couldn’t stop my frown. “What?”
She still sat on the couch where I’d left her, but she’d turned her body. Her eyes fastened to mine. “I’ve never made out with someone. My ex and I, we didn’t do that, not once. And the only other person I’ve been with is you, so . . .”
What the fuck?
I think I must’ve been in denial until that very moment. When she’d come to me over a year ago and dared me to prove men could pleasure a woman, I’d assumed that her ex had tried and failed to please her. Trying and failing was one thing. But never trying at all?
I am going to kill that man.
She laughed, like something was funny or wonderful or both, and it yanked me out of my murderous aspirations.
“I can’t believe how much fun that was,” she said, her eyes sparkling at me, so happy.
I felt my mouth curve despite the discomfort in my pants. She laughed again, then pressed her fingers to her lips.
“Sorry. I just—” She shook her head and then let her smile free, beaming at me. “That was so much fun. Right?”
Breathing out a laugh of my own, I bowed my head again, giving her my back. It had been fun. But I hurt. I was going to have to take things in hand—often, twice daily probably—if we kept having this kind of fun.
“Hey Jason, can we do it again?” Diane loud whispered, her voice full of hope.
Grinding my teeth to stop a groan, my knuckles grew white on the counter. She wanted to make out again? She wanted to touch and tease and do nothing more? She wanted barriers between us and anything more than over-the-clothes forbidden?
“Yes. Of course. Anytime you want.”
Chapter Twelve
*Jason*
“When we find ourselves in a midlife depression, suddenly hate our spouse, our jobs, our lives – we can be sure that the unlived life is seeking our attention.”
Robert A Johnson
After Diane left for home, picking up my preferred bottle of lube was no problem. Sex shops are always open late. While I was there, I’d walked down the vibrator aisle and wondered if I shouldn’t pick one up for her.
I didn’t like the idea of Diane being without a means to satisfy herself, even if I wasn’t going to be the one doing it. A woman has needs, and I wanted hers met. Often.
Ultimately, I’d decided against it. For the time being. Maybe when we were together a bit longer, she’d let me take her to Big Todd’s. Then she could weigh her options and pick out just what she wanted. Maybe she’ll let me watch.
“Dammit.” I grimaced, bracing a hand against a hallway wall at the compound. I did not need mental imagery of me watching Diane touch herself. I already walked around half-hard all the damn time.
I’d been randy as a teenager for the past several weeks, ever since our first night together at the safehouse. Finding time during the day to ease the pain wasn’t an option. Thus, I woke up early to take care of business, and I settled round two at the safehouse after Diane left each night.
We’d been meeting there nearly every afternoon and we hadn’t done anything more than make out.
Well, that’s not true. We did other things. We talked a lot. Flirted. We pulled up maps and I’d shown her all the places in the world I’d visited while she looked at me like I was something amazing and brand new. I made her dinner. She made me dinner. We played poker and I taught her how to cheat.
We also watched movies on the couch, during which we’d invariably make out like two horny, fumbling, virginal teenagers.