“Are you ready to eat?” I ask, still with my hands on her body.
She nods faintly. “I’m ready when you are.”
I tell myself to pull away from her, to drop my hands and move aside. To grab a plate and a wine glass and take a seat.
I tell myself I would have, too, except then she does a dumb thing for a smart girl. Without looking at me and risking breaking the spell, she presses her palms against the outside of my hands on her hips. She tugs my hands downward, and at first I think she’s trying to move my hands off her, but I don’t resist. I’m not trying to harass the girl with unwanted touches. I’ll let her move my hands away if she wants to, but instead of moving them away, she leads them around to her front.
My heart thuds in my chest as she rests one hand on her stomach, and leads the other down between her legs.
All the blood in my body rushes straight to my cock.
Noelle releases my hand, but that feels enough like permission to me. I slide my hand lower, trailing my fingers underneath the hem of her dress.
Her breath rushes in and out of her more noticeably as I do, and I haven’t really touched her yet. Experimenting with her responsiveness, I drag my fingertips along the inside of her thigh.
Noelle gasps, tilting her head back and resting it against my strong shoulder. Her eyes drift closed for a moment, but then she opens them again. She still doesn’t look at me, but I’m looking at her now. Watching her face as I trail my fingertips lightly up her sensitive inner thigh. I curve my hand around one, high enough to feel the heat from her pussy on my hand. I squeeze her thigh hard.
Her breath hitches.
I should stop here.
I don’t.
Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I slide my hand between her legs, cupping her pussy in the palm of my hand. Her breath shudders out of her and I close my own eyes on a sigh when I feel the dampness pressed against my palm now. Sure enough, her panties are fucking soaked.
“Jesus Christ, Noelle.”
My voice breaks the spell.
Suddenly overcome with a wave of self-consciousness, she reaches down and shoves my hand away. I can see I pushed her a little too far, even though she gave the invitation herself, because she has that look like she’s about to flee.
Stopping her before she tries, I grab her around the waist and pull her close. I angle my body so she doesn’t feel my hard-on pressing against her, not wanting to spook her even more. I’m solid behind her now, a source of stability, not the asshole who keeps pushing her well past her comfort zones.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I assure her firmly, my voice low, face bent so it’s close to her ear in a non-threatening show of intimacy. “You enjoyed the story, that’s all.”
“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have—with your hand,” she stammers awkwardly.
“You wanted me to feel your body’s reaction to our time together. What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything,” she says a little desperately. “I think maybe I should go home.”
“Because you want to go home, or because you feel uncomfortable?”
She pauses before answering, and I’m damned impressed that without my even having to guide her there, she calms herself down as she seems to recall that this is exactly how she’s supposed to feel when she’s doing something new and scary, something exhilarating and outside her ordinary experience.
“Did you like when I touched you?” I ask simply.
“Yes,” she answers quietly, the faintest hint of wistfulness in her voice.
That draws a slow, satisfied smile that I’m glad she can’t see, because I know it would come off as predatory. I don’t mean for it to, I’m just so damned satisfied with her, it’s hard to hide it.
“Good. That’s all I’m going to do,” I tell her. “You don’t need to leave, because I won’t push you any further tonight. We’re just going to enjoy a pleasant dinner, all right? Then you can go home.”
“Will you touch me again?” she asks, a tremor of nerves in her voice.
“Not tonight,” I assure her, absently brushing my lips against the shell of her ear.
Noelle sighs with pleasure and sags against me, ever so slightly. “Okay,” she says softly.