I wet my lips and part my legs, giving his fingers room to slide over the crotch of my panties. I let out a gasp at the first contact. When he starts to rub me in sweet, gentle motions, my eyes close and my legs go weak. His lips claim mine again, his tongue caressing mine as his fingers mimic the same movements between my legs. He works me gently, patiently, sending tingles of pleasure rocking through me.
Soon, I lose the ability to breathe. His lips, his fingers, him…it’s too much all at once, and yet I want even more. My body arches into his touch, restless and eager. Something tightens inside me, hot and sweet and desperate, then I’m crying out, my body weakening as his fingers draw a gentle release out of me.
His eyes are on my face as I try to recover. I’m trembling all over, drunk on sensation.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “God, yes.”
He slides his hand out of my tights. He’s still watching me, his blue eyes dark with an emotion I can’t identify.
“I should get you home,” he says.
Disappointment cuts through me like a knife and the haze of pleasure recedes. “I don’t want to go.”
He rises and pulls me up to my feet. His eyes are like a dark cobalt flame, smoking and smoldering, and his lips are full and sexy. As if in a trance, I reach for his face.
“Liz.” I hate the note of caution I hear in his voice. “It’s late.”
“Stop talking to me as if I’m a child,” I snap. “I know it’s late. I know what I want.”
He combs his fingers through his hair in a gesture that looks like irritation. “You do, do you?” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead, he gathers up the food packs, stashing them in the bag before tossing them in the bin. I stare at him, all the delicious feelings from earlier now shrunk into a tight ball of frustration.
“I don’t understand,” I mumble. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing!” He comes back toward me. “Nothing, you did nothing wrong.” He pulls me into his arms. “You are perfect,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to ruin you, Liz, and if you let me, I will.”
“You won’t.”
“That shows how much you know about me.”
“I know that I love you.”
His body stiffens. I close my eyes, regret and shame filling me in an instant. Of all the things I could have said.
“I mean...” I’m fumbling. I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed beyond words. “I mean…that I…love being with you like this.”
He keeps holding me, but his body stays rigid, as if even though we are standing so close, he’s trying to keep himself away from me. I want to cry. I wish I were more experienced. I wish I knew the right things to say instead of blurting out feelings I barely understand.
Silent, I push away from him and smooth my hair. I don’t look at him, but he waits until I’m ready and we go downstairs together.
“You don’t have to walk home with me,” I tell him once we’re outside the theater. It’s night, but the streets are brightly lit, and the evening crowds fill the sidewalks. I’m too embarrassed to bear another moment with him. I just want the day to be over.
He looks at me like I’m speaking in Greek. “Don’t be silly.”
We walk in silence.
I don’t want to hurt you.
What does that even mean? How can he hurt me worse than this?
The walk seems longer than it usually is. When we’re standing in front of the awning outside my building, I mutter a hurried goodnight and walk toward the doors.
“Liz…” His voice stops me.
I should ignore him and keep going, but I stop and wait, my eyes on the ground.