The shadowed movements make my smile larger. It feels like the air in the elevator is getting thicker, making my skin hot and sweaty. My mind starts to wander, wondering if his cock was stiff while he kissed me.
He had to be hard, he had to want my pussy as much as I wanted his cock. There was too much passion and need in that kiss to have been just a kiss.
Temptation is clawing through my body, making me want more than just that kiss. I want him to touch me. I want him to take control of me. I want him to show me just how powerful he can be.
I’m tingling all over, and I can feel the wetness start to soak through my panties. It’s crazy what this man can do to me, and he doesn’t even know it. Fuck, he doesn’t even have to touch me, just the thought of him gets me excited.
Trailing my fingers down over my stomach, I gently start to rub my pussy. It’s tender and swollen, and as I press against my clit, a wave of heat explodes through my belly. Moving my other hand over my chest, my nipples are hard. Softly pinching one nipple through my shirt, I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, making the sensation in my gut surge.
My muscles are shaking and my fingertips are massaging my clit faster and faster. All I can see in my head is Bolt with his lips on my skin, and his hands on my body. I want him to caress me. I want him to kiss my neck, to lick my throat, to suck my tits.
With faster, harder movements, I rub my pussy. My clit is throbbing, and I feel like I’m closing in on coming. Each breath I take is shorter and shallower as I bring myself closer to climaxing.
The elevator shakes as it hits the first floor, yanking me back from the edge. I stand stunned, dropping my arms to my sides as the metal doors start to part. I’m struck with much cooler air, knocking me back into reality, bringing me down off my cloud.
The bubbling orgasm that was about to clench my muscles is suddenly stripped away, leaving me empty and needy. The rush vanishes as I come face to face with the object of my dirty dream.
Bolt is waiting outside the doors, ready to take my bag the second they’re open. With a glint I his eye, he smirks as he looks me over. “You alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” Softly touching my throat, I swallow hard.
Can he tell what I was just doing? Do I smell like sex and a failed finish?
“You look like you were just running.” He lifts his finger to my forehead and wipes away a small bead of sweat.
Laughing awkwardly, I push his hand away and dry my forehead. “No, it was just really hot in the elevator. This elevator is glitchy like that, I don’t know why.”
His eyes study me for a moment, and I’m terrified he’s going to figure out what I was doing in the elevator. But his gaze moves down to the bag at my side instead.
With a quick nod, he asks, “That’s all you brought?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know, I’ve just never traveled with a woman before that didn’t have three or four giant suitcases.”
“It’s only the weekend,” I say as I crinkle my brows. “Have you traveled with a lot of women?” I ask, doing my best to hide the irritation in my voice. I know it shouldn’t matter, because none of this is real—we aren’t real—but the thought of him with someone else is rubbing me wrong.
“Does my mother count?” Chuckling, he reaches out and takes my bag. “She’s a woman, so…One.”
Relief washes over me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little surprised that this guy hasn’t spent nights with super models in some foreign country, or long weekends skiing in Aspen.
“You’ve never traveled with anyone else?”
“Nah, I’ve basically avoided relationships all together. It’s too much work, and I don’t have time with the distillery to worry about other people’s emotions or have to report to someone at home.”
“I can understand that. I’m sure it’s a lot of work to run that place.”
“It is, but…” he says with a big smile as he lifts my suitcase by the handle. “This weekend isn’t about work, it’s about us. Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?” he asks, his lips curling to one side. “You sound worried, what are you worried about?”
“I’m not really worried, it’s just…This is weird, isn’t it? It’s not normal, at least it doesn’t feel normal, anyway.”
“I’m not someone who cares about what other people think, Starla.” Bolt starts walking to the front door of my building, keeping his face forward as he speaks. “If we all spent our days worrying about what’s normal, no one would ever be happy. And think of all the shit we wouldn’t have if people worried about what was normal. Do you think the person that invented the umbrella was considered normal? Or do you think some asshole told them they were crazy?”