I close my eyes.
Then moreshoulds—should stop, should leave, should keep him at a distance?—
Ha.
How’s that working for me?
I’m in my underwear and his pants are unbuttoned and I can still feel the imprint of his cock on my hand.
Something slides through his eyes when I peel back my lids but I don’t let it process.
And I don’t let him speak.
I just reach for the hem of his shirt and tug.
He watches me as he yanks it over his head, tosses it to the side.
“Now these,” I order softly, pushing at the open waistband of his slacks.
Heat in his eyes as he obliges, but I know that he’s watching closely. And I can’t have that, can’t let him know.
Why not? Why can’t you start over? Why can’t you have this?
I shove the questions from my mind.
Too late.
It’s too late for us.
I’ve done too much, the gulf between us is too great.
But not too late for this, not too late for me to make him feel good.
Not too late for us to have a few more stolen moments before?—
His slacks drop to the floor and then I’m really not thinking any longer. I’m shoving down his underwear and we’re both groaning as I wrap my fingers around him and stroke.
Hard as steel. Soft as velvet. Hot as sin.
I want him in my mouth.
I want to feel him twitch as he comes in me, filling me up as I struggle to swallow him down.
But when I go to lower myself, he stops me.
“No, baby.”
My eyes find his.
But he’s looking away, brushing off my hand, pulling up his underwear.
My stomach twists and I reach for him again, but he just steps back, snagging his slacks and dragging them up his legs.
“I—”
He turns away and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over my head.
I’m frozen as he moves to the bags, pulling out a pair of pajamas. He tears off the tags, tugs the top over my head and I robotically push my arms through the holes, steady myself on his shoulders as I put one leg into the pants, then the other.
