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“It’s okay,” I say and quickly redo my belt. “It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry?—”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” I say. “It’s okay.”
I’m honestly fine with it. If she’s not ready to do this, we’re not going to do it. I’m okay with it. Mentally anyway. Physically, I’m already bracing myself because I’m going to have the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had in my life. My cock is still painfully hard and throbbing and having her splayed out in front of me, totally exposed, not to mention the taste of her still on my lips, isn’t helping my condition.
Bailey sits up and quickly smooths down her skirt, looking absolutely miserable. A soft laugh bubbling out of my throat, I take her hand and give it a gentle kiss.
“Don’t look so upset,” I tell her. “There’s nothing to be upset about.”
“I hate doing this to you.”
“I guarantee that I hate it more,” I tease.
She gives me an uneasy laugh and squeezes my hand. “I really am sorry. I’m just… I guess I wasn’t ready and just let myself get caught up in the moment.”
“We both did.”
Her cheeks are still flushed, and she hasn’t quite caught her breath just yet. Her hair is slightly tousled, her eyes sparkle in the darkness, and she still has that post-orgasm glow. She’s so fucking sexy that it's driving me nuts. The quiet in the cab is so absolute that it takes me a minute to realize what’s missing and look out the window.
“Rain’s stopped,” I say.
“Yeah.”
I clear my throat. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“Thank you for tonight, Ben. And I’m so?—”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. Again. And I had a nice night with you.”
We slip out of the back seat. I walk her to her car and grit my teeth, looking forward to getting home where I can get into a hot shower so I can jerk off and finally release the tension inside of me before I fucking explode.
8
BAILEY
“Wow, kid. I can’t believe you left the poor man hanging like that,” Ian says dryly.
I bury my face in my hands and feel my face burning with the heat of my mortification, which has pretty much been a constant since last night.
“I feel like the most horrible person in the world.”
“Don’t feel horrible. You’re not. And you shouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure he went home and took matters into his own hands,” he says with a laugh.
“Oh my God, stop it,” I reply but laugh with him.
Ian and I are sitting in a coffee house around the corner from the office. After not getting a whole lot of sleep last night, I texted him first thing this morning and asked him to meet me for coffee and a chat. I arrived before him and got us coffee and pastries, and when he got here, I verbally vomited, unloading my tale of woe all over him. He listened to it all without comment and, more importantly, without judgment.
I don’t have many girlfriends—at least very few that I trust. Ian is somebody I trust completely, and he always gives me the best advice. Being a bit older, he’s got the benefit of having gathered a lot of life’s wisdom, plus he’s got a different perspective on the world than almost anybody else I know. That’s another reason I come to him with my problems rather than some of my girlfriends. He’s got experience that most of my friend group doesn’t.
“Honestly, don’t feel bad, kid,” he says. “You have a right to say no. You have a right to stop at any point you want to.”
“I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I put myself in a position like that to begin with.”
“I'll say. I didn't realize you were a backseat kind of girl.”
A smile crosses my lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
