Or so she thought.
Then it came time to actually do it.
He saidsure,and she stepped forward, and then pretty much everything went wrong from there. For some reason, she decided it was best to unzip him. But, of course, unzipping him was possibly the worst decision in the history of mankind. It was like he’d become a stripper whose act was getting someone else to undress him.
Even though she tried to be business like about it. She tried, but the whole thing just wasn’t happening that way. She was standing way too close, for a start. Then somehow, she just couldn’t seem to do it quickly. Instead, she found herself dragging that zipper down as slow as something sinking through treacle.
It seemed to take a thousand years, and all the while, her heart just beat harder and harder. Pretty soon, he was going to be able to hear it battering against her breast bone—though even if he didn’t, she knew that he knew what this was doing to her.
He could see her flushed face, after all.
And, likely as not, her rapid breathing was obvious, too.
It kind of made her curse her choice of outfit.
The dress was pretty low-cut, and now her breasts were practically heaving. She could have starred in one of his romance novels pretty easily—a fact that he confirmed about a second later. He just didn’t seem to know where to look. He kept glancing to his right, as if there was something of interest there.
And he only looked back when she started sliding his jacket off him.
God, she wished she hadn’t started sliding his jacket off him.
She did it just as badly as the zipper. She pressed close to him without meaning to—close enough that her breasts pushed against his chest. And though she intended to grab and pull the material, her hands just seemed to fall inside. She wound up groping his shoulders, through nothing more than a jersey.
Much to his obvious dismay.
“Lydia—” he started to say.
But she knew enough to finish for him. He was going to say stop. He was going to say slow down. He was going to say we have all night. She was sure he was. She even went to say to himcome on, this is our third date.
Only she didn’t have to, this time.
No, this time he didn’t need to be told.
He just kissed her, so sudden that she didn’t quite know how to respond. For a moment, she just stood there, turned to stone by the great wave of excitement that followed his mouth on hers. Though, that was fine, becausehewas movingher.And not just towards the couch, either. He was pushing her towards her bedroom. Somehow, he knew it was hers, and they were going in, and then just like that they were sprawled on the bed.
As if it was all just suddenly easy.
And truth was: it felt like it.
It felt like this was finally, finally it. His kisses were only getting hotter, and wetter—and they weren’t limited to her lips. He moved to her jaw, her throat. For a second, it even seemed that he was going to go lower. That he might actually run that hot mouth over her breasts, over the top of her dress.
Or even underneath.
Fuck, what if he did it underneath?
She would die. She was sure she would die.
She was dying already. Her heart tried to beat right out her chest. Her whole body was just one long humming throb. And her breath was definitely coming too fast and too hard. It sounded like she’d just run up three flights of stairs. It sounded like she was panting—and what he was doing only made it worse. His hand had actually slid down to something that might have been her upper thigh.
Then when he shifted it a little, her dress ruffled up.
It ruffled up, like he reallydidwant to get at her.
So really, was it so shocking that she helped out?
He was right there anyway. She barely had to move to get his hand in contact with her pussy. Just a slight shift and there it was, easy as anything.
Wayeasier than his hand on her breast in the car.
