The first thing I did was quietly slip that leash back on, with a brand-new choke chain for everyone's safety.
If I were a stronger man, I'd walk away. But I'm trapped. Not by her, but by my selfish desire, trapped by the promises I desperately want to fulfill. I know it's a bad idea. But I'm gonna do it anyway.
I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess.
Staring at my ceiling that night, shivering from the world's longest cold shower, I committed.
And one thing about me? When I commit?
I commit.
Once that decision was made, I put some new rules in place just for me. The most important being a litmus test before I go to Molly's for dinner: if I can think about kissing her and manage to keep my cock in check, I can go straight over. If not, I have to swing home for a cold shower and to deal with my boner so I can keep my cool.
Haven't gone straight there once all week. Haven't had a hot shower, either.
I quickly learned that Molly is eager. Willing and ready and waiting. And those cold showers I soon decided are a necessity, because guaranteed, Molly and I will be making out. The first Monday night was shy, but curious. By Friday, she was comfortable and sighing and soft, and we kissed until our lips were red and swollen, eyes glassy and half drunk. I managed to keep us on task around the house through the weekend, went home early Saturday night, even convinced myself I knew what I was doing. I had it all on lock.
Fucking idiot.
This week? She's graduated to climbing into my lap, which immediately graduated to dry humping.
Solo shower sessionsimperative.The absolute last thing I need is to nut my pants, and the way she's been grinding and sighing and mewling? There's no way I'd have survived with my dignity if I hadn't kept the tank on E. I haven't done this much kissing since high school. I haven't jerked off as much either.
Now that I know what happens if I let go of the leash, I've got a tighter grip on that motherfucker than ever.
Tuesday and Thursday have become the longest days of the week, the two days I'm too busy to see her. And though I usually dread the weekends, I find myself looking forward to them. Tonight--Friday--Molly made chicken parmesan, and the second we were through eating and catching up on the last couple of days, she all but threw the dishes into the sink and grabbed my hand. Which is where I find myself now, being towed into her living room by her surprisingly strong grip. She smirks at me, taking off her glasses as I sit. We nearly broke a pair on Wednesday. Lesson learned.
Molly practically shoves me onto the couch and steps between my parted knees, . Watches me for a moment, thenclimbs into my lap, burying one knee next to my hip, then the other, leaning in to kiss me as she settles in. She's wearing a baggy tee and these little grey cutoff sweatpants that her ass hangs out of a little. I fucking love them. My hand trails up her thigh and into the leg of them to cup her ass.
She makes this little sound in the back of her throat that drives me crazy, deepening the kiss, her fingertips trailing down my neck. And for a long time, we kiss, our hands roaming, tasting, holding. Squeezing. We've graduated to clothes-on fooling around, and I've never been so fucking thrilled as I am to cup her breast through an oversized Bugs Bunny tee shirt. I want it in my mouth. I want to bury my face in her that soft, sweet flesh until I suffocate. I want to know the shape of them, want to know the color of her nipples, want to feel the hard tip of one with my tongue. They are so sensitive--there's a direct line between her nipples and clit, evidenced when I break the kiss to nip at one through her shirt. Moaning, she grinds the length of my cock, which I've made too accessible in my basketball shorts and no Jockeys. There's too little between us--her hips roll hard, stroking herself against me, her breath ragged. Her hands slide across my chest, down my abs, back up. I shiver when her fingertips brush my neck, slip into my hair and twist.
She's grinding with intent, something in her twisting and tightening with every brush of her nipple until she gasps, rising to her knees, separating our hips. Panting, she looks down at me, and I tip my chin so I can watch her tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as I fondle her breast, thumbing her nipple. I know why she backed off--if she keeps that up, she's going to come. I know by the intention in her hips, the command in her lips, the tightness of her body, the speed of her breath. God, I want to see her come.
Let her be. Don't encourage her.
I lean in to nip her breast instead.
That's all it takes--blessedly, she plants herself in my lap, coming at me lips first.
It's a hungry kiss, a frantic kiss, deep and bruising, her hips rolling. The thought of her getting herself off from dry fucking me sets off a groan from deep in my belly. She breaks the kiss at the sound, one hand gripping the back of my neck.
"Grey," she whispers, cupping my hand on her breast, guiding me to squeeze it. The other is on her ass, riding the curve when her hips buck. She hisses, her eyes almost closed, thighs tight as she rolls her hips, kneading her clit with my rigid cock. With my hand on her ass, I encourage her.
I can't breathe.
"Grey, I…" She bites her lip, but her brows are nocked. "Oh. Oh!"
I watch her orgasm rise, watch it coil around her, tighter, tighter, until she comes with a gasp and wild grind of her body. There's almost nothing between us--I can feel her pussy flex through my shorts and look down.
When I catch a glimpse of her pussy through her skewed shorts leg, I fight the urge to flip her over and bury my face between her thighs.
I'd like to suffocate there too.
I bury my face in her breasts through her shirt as she rides out her orgasm, then slows. I feel her pull away before she does it. She's off my lap and fumbling for her glasses.
"God. Oh my god. I'm sorry. I can't believe I…that was…"
I reach for her wrist, stilling her. I'm smirking when she looks at me. "Fucking hot, Molly. That was fucking hot."
