She didn’t even know what the somethingwas.
She only knew that it made her forget herself, just as he had described.
It made her search his face back, marveling over every brutish line and gentle curve. Those lips of his, as plump as a girl’s yet so masculine at the same time. Like they’d been punched to swollen sweetness, without the stain of a bruise or the slash of some bloody split. Every inch of them gleaming, as if he’d slicked them with gloss in anticipation of a kiss.
Though even in that moment she didn’t really believe she wanted that.
Until he whispered, low and heavy against her own lips.
“You can, you know.”
“Can what?”
“Touch yourself.”
It jolted her, when he said it.
But not as much as realizingwhyhe said it.
She followed his gaze down, and took in the unmistakable sight of her hand in her lap. Really, really high up in her lap. Almost between her legs, in fact—though that was fine, it was cool, it was okay. She stutteredno, no I didn’t really want to do that,but it didn’t matter.
Because his hand wasactuallybetween his legs.
“Ido,” he said.
As the whole world as she knew it dissolved right in front of her eyes.
“You do?”
“Fuck, yes. I’mdyingto.”
“Because of the film. Because of the movie.”
“Sure. We can say that, if you want.”
She closed her eyes. Swallowed thickly.
Wished hard that he hadn’t added that last part.
“If we could that would be awesome.”
“No problem. I mean it was probably inevitable that this would happen to us.”
“Probably, yeah. Almost definitely, in fact.”
“Just a natural response to a sexy movie.”
“Seems that way to me.”
“So you just slip your hand under your waistband, and I’ll slip my hand under mine,” he said, which was fine all on its own. The problem was that he then went ahead anddid it. She tried not to look, but saw anyway. She saw the way he fumbled in his haste, as though all his talk was only calm on the surface. Underneath, something was paddling frantically. It was making his cheeks pink and his body all trembly.
And his dick hard. God, his dick was hard.
She could see that without even trying at all. The curving shape beneath his sweatpants was enormous and unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been, his hand made it pretty clear. As she watched, he eased it over that solid length, before finally clasping it in a way that shoved the swollen head right up against the tented material. Now she could make out ruder details, like the thick ridge around the head, and the slit at the tip. Both pronounced, explicit,rude.
But that wasn’t what really got her.
It was the way he stopped to lick his palm, before shoving it under his waistband.
