I give him a big smile.Amazing! I love…“Oh,rats, I was doing so well,” I laugh. “How do I sign ‘chocolate chip cookies are the king of biscuits’?”
He laughs back, and it’s silent, a few rhythmic breaths, but still somehow contagious. He shows me, twisting his hands this way and that, apart and then together. I mimic the motion, and he gives me a thumbs up, so I store it in my mind.
Thank you for learning ASL, he says to me, and the look he gives me makes my skin tingle. It’s not flirtatious, just…sincere. Appreciative.
“It’s no bother. Quite the opposite, in fact: it’s a pleasure.” And I mean it, too. He’s making all that effort completely worthwhile. "Oh, and I have a question." He lifts his eyebrow in consent. "Do you do name signs?"
No, he replies.Well, occasionally I'll give Leo the 'loser' sign…He places his thumb and forefinger on his head, and I laugh.But other than that, no. I'm a fast hand speller.
Kind of a shame. I'd love to know what he'd give to me as a name sign.
With his hand, he indicates towards his chair.Ready?
Am I ready for him to put his hands on my bare skin? Hell yes.
“Sure.” I put my belongings down and pull a hair tie off my wrist. I like that he’s watching as I scoop my hair up into a messy top knot and fix it into place. His attention makes my fandango tremble in my pants, and I want more of it.
He pushes the plate of biscuits within easy reach of the chair, and then turns his back so I can get ready, putting on his gloves while he waits. Am I a bad person for suddenly developing a rubber glove fetish out of nowhere?
I want him to turn around. I take my top off and stand there, naked from the waist up, not making any move to cover myself or lie on the flattened chair. I want him to see me like this. I wish I could walk up and put my arms around his waist from behind. Press my breasts against his back. Kiss between his shoulder blades and run my hands down his front, down, down, until I’m slowly rubbing his cock, making it harder with the right caresses. Push him back onto the chair…remove the rest of our clothes…sink onto him, inch by delicious inch, while keeping eye contact so we can watch each other strain and gasp and come alive at the feeling…
I don’t mean to, but I let out a sigh of pure, unfilteredwant, and I know he hears it because his back stiffens. For just a second, I consider throwing all caution to the wind and just going for it, taking the chance and making my move. But my intuition is still insisting to me that my usual blunt ways shouldn’t be used here, with him. Besides…this feels different from all the other times I’ve gotten involved with a man. I don’t quite understand it, but my attraction to Dean feels…more.
Justmore.
I hate being so inarticulate in my own head. It’s not like me. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like a new person, someonewith unfamiliar desires and needs. It’s not unpleasant. But it is strange.
Without further ado, I settle onto the chair and grab a biscuit from the plate. “I’m ready.”
Dean
My dick is aching.
It’s fucking aching in my pants in a way it hasn’t since I was a teenager in the back seat of my dad’s car with -
NO. Don’t think about Callie. I cannothave a flashback situation right now - it would put Liaden in danger, and that just can’t happen.
I also shouldn’t think about that gorgeous little sigh she let out while my back was turned, making me think about things I could do that would make her sound like that…
Shit, I need to focus. I reapply the needle, willing myself to think of nothing other than shading and outlining. I’ve got to get rid of this boner, it’s getting painful. But no amount of thoughts of cold showers and Minecraft are helping. Not when she’s in front of me, topless, and smelling so good, like crisp, fresh breezes in an orchard. Thank god she’s lying on her front. Her naked back is getting me unbearably hot. If she rolled over, and I saw her…with the rosy tips…
I shut off the needle for a second and take a breath, wiping over the freshest ink. I’m lining up the other side perfectly with the one already done, and I can’t afford to allow futile horniness to ruin this masterpiece. It’s already my favorite tattoo I’ve ever done, and not just because it’s hers. It’s stretching me creativelyand making me really think about my methods. I won’t let anything spoil it.
Not even thoughts of rolling her over, throwing my needle to one side, and running my mouth and tongue all over her tits…
“Let’s see,” she says, mercifully interrupting me and swiping down the list of conversation starters on my tablet. “Favorite color is done. Favorite meal. Favorite movie… Here’s a good one: favourite music.” She chuckles. “How long have you got?” I reapply the needle, and she hardly even flinches. She’s a lot more comfortable with the feeling now. “My taste is nothing if not eclectic. Puccini to Paramore. And I love making my own as well. I play the violin and the piano, and I sing, too. I can play the guitar, but it’s not my go-to instrument.” Her head turns slightly. “Maybe sometime you can come to one of my gigs? It’s nothing major, just pub stuff with the band I play with, the occasional open mic night by myself, but it’s fun. They’re generally slightly metal covers of classics. I make the violin work.”
Wow.
Actually going to see her play, watch the live version of those YouTube videos I played more than I want to admit…
I actuallywantto go.
It’s far too complicated and fraught with potential trouble for me to do it. But I genuinely do want to. And that’s a surprise. I can normally shrug off invites and stay at home very happily. I am one hundred percent willing to sacrifice any form of social entertainment in exchange for feeling safe and calm, and look on it as a reasonable trade.
Feeling the exact opposite, that tug of missing out, is more than a little unnerving.
“Oh, I have another topic to contribute,” she says suddenly. “How theever loving hellisSadiedatingPeter Lang?!”
