It was wrong. I thought. I maybe even knew. But I didn’t want to take responsibility … not yet. The feeling … the drug he became … was too strong.
After rocking his hips into me a couple of times, he moved his mouth to my neck, sucking and biting as he unbuttoned his jeans. Things started to feel … real. Very, very real.
My heart managed to beat even faster. Anticipation soared in my head, making me dizzier.
Stop.
Don’t stop.
Gah!
I was so conflicted—those scattered pieces of paper all over the floor without anyone to pick them up and sort them to make sense again.
Fisher’s hand tangled in my hair as his mouth returned to mine and his erection, covered only by his underwear, wedged between my legs.
The friction.
The wet feeling.
The heat.
I wasn’t ready for sex, or maybe I was. I just didn’t know. And as much as I knew, I really knew we needed to stop, I wasn’t ready to tell him to stop. It wasn’t sex, right? We weren’t having actual sex. As much as I wanted more to happen, without actually having sex, I didn’t know how to articulate it because I wasn’t exactly sure what more meant. I only knew I wanted to at least feel him against me, really against me.
My hand rested on his hip, my fingers teasing his underwear’s waistband. Sliding one finger beneath it, I slowly inched my way to the front. Just before touching him there, putting just enough pressure on the waistband to expose the head of his … cock? Penis? No … Dick?
Fisher stopped kissing me, and with quick breaths escaping past his parted lips, he glanced down at my finger still curled around the waistband. It was my first glimpse at a man’s … head. That head.
“I need to get a condom,” he whispered.
I shook my head slowly. We weren’t having sex. I felt fairly certain of that. I just wanted … well … I wasn’t sure. I wanted to see him and feel him, but not actually have sex. “I want …” I swallowed hard. “I just want to feel you.”
“God … feel me, Reese.” He grabbed my hand and slipped it down the front of his underwear, closing his eyes as his tongue swiped along his lower lip. He released my hand.
It took me a few seconds to move my hand, to gently wrap it around him. He was warm and hard, yet smooth and long. I slid my hand up slowly.
“Fuuuck …” He dropped his chin and opened his eyes again, watching me touch him, his abs tightening even more than seconds earlier.
My gaze flitted between my hand and his gaze, like I wasn’t fully aware that I was the one giving him that pleasure. Me. Not Teagan. Not the woman upstairs in his bed.
Me.
I felt like a queen. A goddess.
The head was even smoother … and wet … and a little sticky.
“Reese …” He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as if in some sort of agony. “Let me get a condom.”
“No. I … I just want to feel you.”
“Fuck …” His mouth landed on my neck and shoulder again, his hand grabbing my breast with a little bit of desperation. “You are feeling me, and it’s killing me.”
“No. I want to feel you …” I pushed down a fraction on his erection, forcing his underwear down a little more and positioning him extremely close to the center of my spread legs. “Here. I want to feel you here, but … just … on the outside.”
“Reese …” He rested his forehead on my shoulder and dropped his hand to the edge of the pool table again as we both focused on my hand bringing him so incredibly close to me. Taking the tiniest of steps closer, the head of it touched me there.
“Stop.” My breath hitched.
The warmth and silkiness felt out of this world.
After hearing him gulp a loud swallow, I rubbed it against me. It felt so good. Everything about him felt good … maybe even right, from his lips at my shoulder to his right hand on my knee, gently pushing it out to spread my legs a little wider.
With micro movements, he dipped his hips forward a fraction of an inch, hitting my clit, then back. Forward again. Back again.
It wasn’t sex.
It wasn’t sex.
It wasn’t sex.
That chant played on an endless loop in my head.
“God …” I closed my eyes and said a quick apology prayer for using the Lord’s name in vain, but I somehow ignored the obvious apology for sitting naked on the edge of Fisher’s pool table while we rubbed his cock along my … area.
His movements sped up a bit, becoming ragged like his breathing.
“Fisher!” I gasped, digging my fingernails into his shoulders as he stilled.
He stilled because the head of it went in the wrong direction. It went in … a fraction. Fisher was inside of me, literally a quarter of an inch, at the very most. But still … he was there. And he could have moved. He could have jumped back. But he didn’t.