“What are you thinking about?”
He looks me straight in the eyes, disarmingly, holding my gaze. “What I want to do to you now.”
I can feel the soft little hairs on my arms standing on end. “What do you want to do?”
He lays a hand on my bare leg. His hand is warm, his skin is soft, he feels good. “This.” His voice is strong. He’s not playing around. He’s just a man speaking his mind.
My back is to the wall, and he’s looking at me, and his hand is on my thigh, tracing the edge of my short, short skirt. He raises an eyebrow as his fingers cross over, slipping inside my skirt. It feels so good, I want to cry. I haven’t been touched in so long, I nearly forgot what it can do to a girl. My whole body feels alive, as if every part of me is reaching for him, longing for him.
“It feels so good,” I tell him.
“You feel so good. Don’t take this the wrong way. Don’t take this to mean I don’t like you, because I do. But I have totally wanted to get in your pants since the day I met you.”
“Yeah. I think I can take that the right way.”
He moves his hand higher, inching so close to my inner thighs, where I’m throbbing for him. There’s no other way to describe it. Because I am simply dying to be touched by him. He makes me feel so wanted, so desired, and so cared for, it’s intoxicating. I’m so turned on by him, pulsing with all these feelings that collide inside of me at once – the pure physical desire, but then the way my heart feels unfrozen with him, un-angry. The way it feels a crazy kind of joy that I could live off, that could feed me. His touch could too. His hands are strong and insistent, but gentle in their own way too as he traces the outside of my panties. I am racing right now, and my panties are damp, and he smiles a wicked little grin as he touches them for the first time.
“That’s f**king awesome,” he whispers in my ear. “I love how wet you are.”
“Well, the cat’s out of the bag, Chris. You turn me on something crazy.”
“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing this. I’ve thought about this when I’m in the shower,” he says, and I might as well rocket into another world of pleasure. He just told me he’s gotten off to me. I didn’t think it were possible to feel any more heat, but I am aflame.
“You think about me in the shower?”
“I have had many, many thoughts about you. I have touched you in so many ways already,” he says, his voice, low and dirty in my ear. The ache between my legs intensifies, and I am longing for him to touch me, to know what he’s done to me.
“Like how?”
“I’ve tasted you. I’ve touched you. I’ve been inside you, and now I want to feel you for real.”
I might swoon with desire, but there’s no time to do anything but gasp, as he slides his hand inside my panties, and an involuntary moan escapes me at the first touch. Oh my god. This is what it feels like without batteries. This is what it feels like with someone else’s hands. This is what it’s like when someone wants to touch you as much as you want to be touched.
“Chris,” I say in a low voice.
“Yes?”
“I’ve thought about you too. I’ve thought about you touching me.”
“You have?”
I nod. “Yes. Before our first Guitar Hero lesson. You made me come,” I say, and it’s a hushed and hot confession. The look in his eyes is one of lust and heat, and it’s about the sexiest a man has ever been.
“How? How did I do it?” His voice is rough, full of unchained desire.
“You went down on me,” I whisper.
He nearly growls at my admission. “And you tasted spectacular. Because I was making you come the night before too. By licking you, by going down on you and you were grabbing my face and pulling me closer,” he says in a husky voice. “God, I am dying to make you come right now.”
His words turn me molten, and I close my eyes, and breathe out hard as he grazes me with those strong fingers. I shift my stance, so my legs are open wider, while my pink boots are pressed firmly on the ground. He moves in closer, his fingers gliding across me as he presses his body against me. I grab hold of his hip with one hand and angle him so I can feel how hard he is against my thigh, as his fingers slide across my silky wetness.
I breathe out harder, whimpers and sighs falling from my lips with abandon. I can’t pretend any more. I can’t fake it anymore. I can’t be cool, cold, business McKenna with Chris. Not like this. Not as the world tilts away, and I am reduced to one exquisite point in my body, as I arch into his hand.
He doesn’t even need to slide a finger inside me. There’s no need, because he’s so good, and I’m so ready, that the way he works me in a perfect rhythm, up and down, and then there, right there, where I want him, where I start singing his praises over and over, is all I need, all I want, all I know right now. I am gasping and panting and my h*ps rock into his hand.
“You are so hot, McKenna. You are so ridiculously hot all the time, but especially right now,” he whispers to me. “The way your lips are parted, and your eyes are closed, and your body moves against me. I’ve thought about doing this in your friend’s car the other night. You have no idea how much I wanted to touch you.”
I feel so vulnerable, as if this moment is a line in the sand, and it is. Because I’m going to come any second, I am going to come with this man, this former candidate, this possible boyfriend, this person who has entered my life in the most random of ways, and who I could never resist, and I am only going to want him more and more and again and again.