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We kiss and we kiss.
And it’s as if I’m about to go on a trip to the moon after jumping from a plane.
He never slides in his tongue. He just grasps onto my lips with his. But if I’m sinning, I want to brave the murky waters, so I tease my tongue slowly into his mouth, encouraged by his propelling groans.
He then puts pressure, an immense load of it, on my hips with his hand while the other still holds my neck in place.
I stop. I need to breathe. I can’t breathe.
He doesn’t have to tell me to stop looking at him with heart-shapes in my eyes. Iknow. I know I’m looking at him like he can hand me the world because it surefeelslike it. It needs to stop.
He warned me. No catching feelings. No white picket fence.
Just sex. Just lust.
He doesn’t ask me why I pull away. He waits and waits as if he knows I’ll want more.
I do.
I kiss him, moaning when his tongue finally plays with mine. His mouth is so warm. He’s sinking lower on the couch, bringing down my body with him. I’m feasting on his mouth and he’s feasting on mine.
He takes and he takes, but oh God, does he give.
I can’t even think about what an orgasm with him would be like. We’re kissing and I’m ready to lose all sense of everything around me except for the man holding me captive.
I have to remember to leave my heart out of it.
I really, really do.
He untucks my cream blouse from the black skirt, his fingers tracing my back and then my waist beneath the blouse, spreading goosebumps everywhere like a dragon’s fire.
We’re only kissing, yet I’m so horny it hurts.
My body wants this so bad it’s ready to exile my heart and mind.
“Damon...” I moan, his white tee rumpled between my fingers. I’m burning. Fuck, I want this!
He swiftly flips us over, him towering over me, between my legs while my back lies on the leather fabric of the couch. His hand goes on exploring, fingers squeezing the black mesh stocking over my ankle until he finds the band mid-thigh.
So close to where I want him to be.
He looks at my stockings then his eyes drift to mine. “I can’t tell you how many times a day I picture bending you over my desk.” He’s fingering my lower stomach as he says this, his brows knitting at the thin white scar from the accident on the side of my stomach.
I freeze for a second, waiting to see if he’ll ask me about it, but he doesn’t.
As I stare at this man, I desperately want to know why he doesn’t want a relationship. One question sears through my mind: Who was she and what happened?
I refrain. From asking, from demanding answers, because he scares away easily. And I don’t want to stop feeling his hands all over me.
We’re both breathing loudly, both deeply affected by the other’s touch, when I hear my phone ring, the sound vibrating against the couch, in the pocket of my coat.
Damon looks at me, his eyes asking if I will pick up.
I gulp, pulling my skirt down, while he hands me my coat. I fish my phone out, and my heart stops when I see Harvey’s name flash on the screen.
Tears burn my eyes because I know I’ll pick up in case it’s an emergency. And he’ll hear it, Harvey will hear my voice, he’ll know something is up. He might ask questions I’ll provide lies to.
I should feel horrible for doing this behind his back. A part of me does but the biggest part of me wants Damon too much to abstain from having him.
