Battle

The heavy mood threatens to destroy our evening. The grey cloud needs to be lifted stat. I roll a ten. He follows with an eight. On my knees, I take in a slow breath. I feel timid, and I’m worried I’m going to sound stupid. I’ve never been the flirty type, but I want him to know I’m interested in moving things along. I can do this. I can be sexy, I repeat in my mind.

“Do you wanna know what I have on under this shirt?” His eyelids lower. He inhales sharply through his nose and nods. “Nothin’,” I whisper.

“Jesus, Faye.” His hands move through his hair. “What are you tryin’ to do to me?”

“That’s a question, and it’s not your turn,” I tease, handing him the dice.

We both roll. I win again.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” I ask, and then curse myself. I meant to ask why he hasn’t kissed me.

“Yes,” he answers, which only confuses me.

“Why don’t you?”

Crap, I meant, why haven’t you?

“Not your turn.” He mocks me, sliding the dice over to me.

I have too many questions. Dice will take all night. I stand up, nervously twisting the hem of his t-shirt in my fingers. “Why haven’t you kissed me? Do you just want to be friends? Would you prefer I not sleep here tonight? Am I not sexy enough for you?”

He laughs and stands up. “Whoa. You don’t think you’re sexy?”

I rock back on my heels. “I don’t know.”

“You’re beyond sexy,” he says, entering my space as his hands wrap around the nape of my neck. “I want you to sleep here tonight, or I wouldn’t have asked. And we’re way more than friends, sweetheart. The moment you left me in my driveway, I knew I never should’ve let you go. I’ve spent every minute of every day thinkin’ about you and how much I want to be with you again. ”

I exhale loudly, removing his hands from my neck. “Then why haven’t you?”

“Christ, Faye. I wanted you to know I was interested in more than sex. I was tryin’ to give you more because that’s what you said you wanted.”

“But you haven’t even kissed me.”

He smiles, leaning in close until his lips graze mine. “I haven’t kissed you because I know I could never stop at a kiss.”

“Oh.” I swallow.

“Yes, oh.” The backs of his fingers stroke my cheek. His hand moves behind my neck, and he grips my head. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

I swallow, again. “I want to be wanted.”

He inhales through his nose, biting his bottom lip as his dark and hooded eyes devour my lips. His hand brushes under my shirt. Two of his fingers discover I’m in fact pantie-less and slide into my wetness. His hot breath tickles my lips, and they part involuntarily.

I close my eyes, desire filling me to the brim as I wait to taste his delicious mouth. A whimper squeaks in my throat as he removes his fingers. He fists the t-shirt I’m wearing in front of me and yanks me close, his intense stare nearly debilitating as he lowers his head.

Our warm lips melt together. I’m overcome with satisfaction as our tongues collide. He kisses me deeply and passionately. I smile throughout the kiss. He wanted this kiss as much as I did, and feeling how much he wanted it, thrills me. My hands reach for his hair. I moan into his mouth as I tug and pull on the silky strands.

His fingertips dig into my arms as he shoves me back, releasing the kiss. I hit the couch cushions a second later. Fear consumes me as I consider why he’s angry, only when I peer up at him, I’m greeted with power and hunger, lust and need, in the eyes of a man who’s about to fuck me to prove a point. My clit throbs painfully, demanding he do it now.

When I see a moment of hesitation in his locked jaw, I remove my shirt slowly over my head and drop it at his feet.

His features harden further, but the fierce look of lust returns to his eyes as they examine my bare breasts. He shoves his jeans and boxers to the floor and strokes his hard cock, completely unabashed. “Spread your legs, sweetheart,” he commands softly.

My heart pounds violently, but I smother the anxiety tempting me to cover up and save myself the embarrassment, and I let my knees fall open. Tamping my nerves becomes more difficult when he requests I place one leg on the back of the couch and hang the other off the front, but I breathe through my reservations and comply.

“Perfection,” he says in a low raspy tone, continuing to slide his hand up and down his length. “Now, feel how soft you are.”

A moan escapes my throat, but my cheeks flame with embarrassment. Not that I haven’t pleasured myself before, especially recently, but I’ve never done it with an audience.