A grumble rumbles from my chest at the memories of running that soapy sponge all over her body. The experience was a tantric one, and I’m sure with those memories and the ones from our night together, if I concentrate hard enough, I could come without even touching myself right now.
As slowly as I can manage, I shift, pulling myself out from under her, and doing what I so desperately need—taking a few minutes in her bathroom to get myself under control—is probably the wrong thing to do.
Taking deep, even breaths, I plant my feet on the floor, rest my elbows on my knees, and bury my face in my hands. Leaving the room would be optimal because I wouldn’t be surrounded by the tempting scent of her skin, but I just can’t put that much distance between us.
I don’t look back when the sheets ruffle and the bed moves. I know she’s waking up, but she doesn’t reach for me. What I would give for her to curl up against me or place her warm palm on my back.
I look up just in time to watch her disappear into the bathroom.
I use it as my opportunity to pull on my jeans and t-shirt and head to the kitchen. After not sleeping well last night because of the temptation I don’t even think she realizes, I nearly cry when I remember that all she has in the house is decaffeinated coffee. That shit is borderline sacrilegious.
I’m pouring a glass of orange juice, a very poor substitute for what I really need, when she makes an appearance.
I hate the sight of my boots in her hand as she walks past to place them near the front door. Is it a message for me to leave?
I left the other night without argument, but that was before she was chased all over town.
“I’ll take you to get your car, but I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone.”
Without a word, she pulls the glass of juice from my hand, taking a sip with her eyes locked on mine.
“Maybe call Sylvie up and stay with her for a few days?”
“Why? Are you busy?” I’m entranced at the sight of her tongue sneaking out to catch a stray drop on her bottom lip.
I inch a little closer, my body urgently wanting to touch her, but I stop a foot short. “You want me here?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth for a long moment before she looks back up. “I feel safe with you, and Sylvie snores. If you have other plans, I can grab a hotel room or something.” she says when I remain silent.
“I don’t have other plans, Faith. I want to be here with you. I know it’s Saturday, but you don’t have work, do you?”
She shakes her head. “It’s also Christmas Eve.”
“Is all of this keeping you from plans you’ve made?” She said she didn’t have plans with her family when I asked because she doesn’t have a family, but she never said whether she had other plans. I know from my own personal experience that family can easily be those you choose not those you’re born to.
“No. Would staying here again interrupt obligations you have with the club?”
I shake my head. “I’m all yours.”
Her eyes drop again. Just knowing they’re on my mouth makes the situation in my jeans worse.
I clear my throat and take a step back because if I don’t, we’d probably spend this entire holiday in the house.
“When did you want to get your car?”
“Now is fine.”
My eyes drop to her bare legs since she’s still in the clothes she put on after her shower. I never knew how enticing it could be to watch a woman put clothes on, but it was just as appealing as the night I stripped her naked.
“You might get cold.”
“I remember you promising to always keep me warm.”
I don’t hesitate to adjust my erection in my jeans when it becomes too much. Her fingers toy with the condensation on the glass of juice as she sets it down on the counter, and I want to groan when my head replaces the glass with my cock. We did not get around to more than sex the other night, and I look forward to changing that very soon. I want her mouth and hands on me. I want my fingers caressing every inch of her body without a bath sponge separating us.
“I’ll get changed.” The look in her eye before she turns around and heads to her bedroom is devious.
The woman knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows she’s torturing me. I know it’s eventually going to drive me to the point that I won’t have the control I’ve managed so far to keep my hands off her.
I’m splashing water on my face, wondering if a full glass of ice-cold water poured down the front of my jeans is a good idea, when she comes back into the kitchen.