“You’re a good man for staying home with Birdie,” she whispers, forcing me to lean down to hear. “For giving up your calling and focusing on hers. You might not even be aware of the difference you’re making, but I am.”
I’m going to kiss her. I’m going to kiss her ex-fiancé out of her mind. Her eyelids droop a little more with every inch I close in. She wants it—
There’s a clatter of mugs in saucers on the bar behind Naomi and she jolts forward, her tits flattening on my stomach. On reflex, I reach out to steady her, but she’s already cradling my hard cock, her lips popped open in surprise.
“Come on, baby, you knew it was there,” I rasp into the crown of her head, my hands shifting the dress up her thighs. “It’s always there, hoping you’ll need it.”
Naomi seems to gather her will, whirling to face the bar. But that only drags her ass into my lap and I feel the moan pass through her. Hear the low answer of mine, right as the food arrives. It’s indecent and it’s fucking torture, but that’s how we eat our meals. The crowd grows, pushing us closer together. Closer. Naomi’s tight little backside rests against my cock, one of my hands gripping her hip, the other operating my fork. Hell if I taste a goddamn thing when I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.
I can feel every inhale and exhale she takes. Can feel her swallowing, can hear her breaths. I’m salivating to bite and lick the back of her neck, but I sense she’s looking for any reminder she’s doing something bad. Any excuse to pull away and be faithful to someone else. That only makes me want to fuck her more. Claim her.
We eat in record time and I dig into my front pocket, grazing the curve of her ass as I retrieve my wallet. Another moan shakes her, but the spell is broken when I toss money onto the bar and we’re forced to separate. It’s agony. Agony not having her curves on my lap any more. I need to know she’s suffering, too, but she doesn’t look at me as I guide her to the exit. I walk home beside her in a fever state, the flesh angry and neglected in my pants. The closer we get to home, the more obvious it becomes that I’m going to suffer alone. She’s composed and serene where I’m hot and bothered. She proves me right by running up her apartment stairs as soon as we hit the driveway.
I curse vilely, all but ripping the door off its hinges getting into the house. As soon as I determine the house is definitely empty, I unzip my jeans and take my cock in my hands, jerking root to tip, root to tip as I stumble blindly into my bedroom, groaning the name of my torturer.
“Naomi.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
ColdCaseCrushers.com
Username: StopJustStop
This is what happens when I leave the Internet.
All hell breaks loose. Well I’ll leave you to it, you big pack of lunatics.
I’m taking a break. I don’t need this!!
Naomi
I pace my apartment fanning myself. What just happened?
Have I lost my mind? Eating a meal in a public place while shamelessly pressed to a man’s intimate parts. Tempting him when I know darn well nothing good can come from a physical encounter. How wrong of me.
But my body seems bound and determined to be thrilled.
I tempted. I was a temptation.
My nipples pull into tight beads and I rub them with restless palms, pressing my thighs together. Thanks to years of stringent Sunday school sermons and the libido-dampening reality of living under my parents’ roof, I don’t touch myself frequently. I have no choice right now, though, do I? I’m going to explode into tiny particles unless I find release. Already I’m so wet, I wonder if I didn’t orgasm in the restaurant solely from the feel of Jason’s thickness, that big paw on my hip, tugging me back. Tugging, tugging.
Rolling his hips. Breathing into my neck.
“Lord,” I sob, bending forward over the kitchen table, reaching back to pull up my skirt. My few and far between masturbation sessions were usually in the dark under my goose feather duvet. But after having Jason behind me for what felt like hours, I want this position. I need to simulate being taken from behind, even though I have no idea what that’s like.
I’ve never even done it this way. Sex with Elijah was infrequent due to his busy schedule and when it actually happened, we moved like strangers, not speaking, rarely making eye contact. I always sensed he physically held back with me, but I was too afraid for confirmation of that—and a subsequent explanation of why—that I never brought it up. No, I simply gave him what I thought was expected and hoped it would be enough. When it was over, he would smile and go back to being a perfect gentleman, making it easy to tell myself I was being silly.