Don't Kiss the Bride

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I say softly. My eyes close, unable to resist the relaxing lull of her touch.

If I had half a brain, I’d be more careful of her getting attached to me. I can’t let myself become all she has. When it’s time to go, she has to be stronger. Able to take care of herself and never need anyone.

And I shouldn’t get attached to her, either. If I do, it’ll hurt when she’s gone, and I’ve got nothing to numb the pain.

Inch by inch, her warm hands move down my spine, massaging my muscles with the perfect amount of pressure. Every press of her fingers escalates the conflict swirling up inside me.

This feels so good, it must be right.

This feels too good, it’s totally wrong.

I lift my shoulders, stretching my muscles beneath her palms.

“Do you want to take your shirt off?” Her voice is so soft, her words innocent. But with my eyes closed, sitting between her parted thighs, alone in a dim room with her on a Sunday night, her words could be inviting. Sensual.

While my brain insists there’s absolutely nothing sexual going on, my cock is devouring every word, every touch. It’s hard as a rock, acting like it’s never been near an attractive chick before.

Women coming on to me has never really done it for me. I need more than that to get a rise. But this subtle, unexpected chemistry with Skylar is twisting me up like a pretzel.

Wordlessly, I pull my shirt off and toss it on the couch next to us. Her breath catches the first time her hands touch my flesh.

Or maybe that was my own breath.

“Is this okay?” Her voice wavers with a hint of nervousness as she pushes the heels of her palms into my tense muscles. “Am I hurting you?”

“No. It feels great.” Hopefully she doesn’t notice the sudden huskiness in my voice.

I focus on the TV to distract myself. Detach myself from her and her touch—like I would if this were a professional massage.

Of course, if it were, I’d be lying on a table, not sitting on the couch with a hard-on and her squished behind me.

The comedy we were watching drones on. What we’re doing can’t be wrong when we’ve got a happy, light backdrop of laughter and humor.

Right?

“Is this a real place?” she asks as her fingertips skim over the tattoo design that spans my entire back.

“Mostly.”

It’s a tattoo of a mountain cliff done in shades of gray, with a sunset in oranges, yellows and reds. There’s a lone house in the mountains, way out in the distance. Trees run up the sides, framing the scene, and two birds fly across the sky. It’s a vision of peace for me.

“Are these two people sitting here?” She touches a spot in the middle of my back.

“No, it’s a rock.”

“To me it looks like two people sitting together, looking out at the sunset. It’s really pretty,” she says. “I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t see the point of getting a huge ass tattoo on your back, though. It had to cost a fortune, and you can’t even see it.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know it’s there.”

“Yeah, but have you seen it? There’s two people sitting there and you think it’s a rock.”

“It is a rock,” I say.

“If you say so…”

I can feel her breath, hot on my back as she continues to move her hands up and down my spine, squeezing my shoulders, then roving lower over my ribs. My muscles might be relaxing, but my pulse is racing.

“Is this making you feel better?” she asks.

I wish she’d stop talking. Her soft voice is only making me want to turn around and kiss those pretty pink lips of hers.

“Yeah.” I exhale slowly and stretch my neck back a little. “Maybe a little too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much better.”

Not true.

The episode on the screen ends and another starts, but we don’t move to get up or say goodnight. Her touch becomes less of a massage and more of a slow, wandering caress up and down my back. It’s not sexual, but it’s intimate. Careful. Loving. Every few minutes she touches the back of my hair, winding a long lock around her finger. It sends thousands of tingles over my scalp and down my spine. At some point I wrap my hand around her leg, and I slowly match her touch, sliding my hand from her outer thigh, down to her calf, then back again. Her cotton pants with the funny cat faces under my palm is a confusing mix of comforting, innocent, and sexy.

My breathing has become shallow. She’s lulled me into a stilled, dream-like state. I’ve never had a woman touch me in such a delicate, sensual way before. I’m used to the scratch of sharp, too-long nails. Impatient pushing and pulling. A rush of takes and demands.