‘That’s it,’ Dan hisses, his hips jerking, the sounds of my pleasure humming in the back of my throat. I’m going to do this.Make him come for me.
Suddenly, his hands are under my arms as he pulls me up from my knees. Turning me swiftly, he folds his arms around my waist, turning me to face the kitchen table. His cock twitches against my ass, his lips on my neck as he whispers,
‘I can’t wait. I want to be inside you when I come.’ His hands slide down my back and over my ass, pulling at the band of my panties, causing the fabric to dig tight between my legs. He isn’t gentle, and my voice comes out strangled, shocked by the sudden action—stunned as he pushes himself against the crack of my ass. I breathe a sigh of relief as he moves back.
Taking my hands in his, I allow the weight of his body to bend my body across the table. My torso pressed against the solid wood, he curls my fingers around the far edge.
‘Don’t let go.’
His hips press into me, holding me against the hard edge to remind me of my position. Remind me of my Friday’s expectations—all the things I’d tried to ignore.Well used. Well worn. Well fucked.I want those things. I want them all.
‘Such pretty decoration,’ he murmurs as he pulls back a little ways, running his hands across the rounds of my ass. ‘Did you choose these for me?’
My body jerks as his finger slide between the fabric-covered ass cheeks.
‘What?’
My tone is terse, maybe a touch panicked, as I turn my head over my right shoulder to try to look at him. Need burns in my gut, fanning out further down. But what he didn’t know—what he hadn’t experienced yet—was that I’m prone to go off the boil quite quickly. Off the idea of sex.
Concentrate the fuck on what’s bent over the breakfast table, not my underwear.
If he notices my frustration, he doesn’t say.
‘They’re virginal, almost.’ His tone is tinged with humour, accompanied with a feigned widening of his eyes. ‘I wonder why you chose white?’
‘I didn’t.’ My frown deepens. ‘They were on top of my underwear drawer.’
‘You expect me to believe you never gave it a thought?’ Dan’s amusement deepens.
‘Well, yes,’ I reply, embarrassment deepening colouring my mood. ‘Because it’s true. Do you think this is special or something? You and me, tonight?’ I move to straighten, to address his almost derisory tone, but find myself prevented by a large palm placed low on my spine.
It isn’t intimidating or a threat, but it’s definitely an instruction. I surprise myself by remaining quiet and keeping still.
‘That’s quite disappointing,’ Dan drawls, leaning forward and expanding my limited view. ‘I feel very much put out.’
Put out.I snigger lightly. I wish he would. I’m seriously cooling; the thought of faking an orgasm before going home to finish the job myself is almost heartbreaking. I had such high hopes—
‘Ow!’ His hand meets my right ass cheek at speed, the dishes on the other end of the table rattling. His hand is censorious, not sensuous like I’d expect it to be. This isn’t kinky fun—now I’m just startled. And very annoyed.
‘What the hell?’
‘Do you think this is some kind of joke?’ His words are spoken quietly, yet the chastisement stings.A lot like my ass.‘That’s not how this is playing out. You don’t get to pull my strings.’ His hand tangled in my hair, he pulls to emphasize the point. Right at that moment, every strand seems wired to my core.
I whimper—at least, I think I do—but it doesn’t sound quite right. The noise is heavy and loaded with something I don’t recognise. As he pulls away, smoothing my knotted hair off to one side, he pools it over my shoulder and onto the wood.
‘This isn’t just about you, and what you want,’ he says quieter still. ‘This isn’t just about reaching the point where you come or where I get off. Tonight should be far more than baring just our skins. We are more than just the sum of our sexual parts.’
Despite his earnest tone and my near nakedness, my mouth was speaking before I’d engaged my brain.
‘Don’t tell me you’re going to go all Holism on me,’ I said through a strangled laugh. I lay my cheek and embarrassment against the wood. Why can’t I help my smart mouth? Sarcasm is unbecoming, or so my father says. That aside, it makes me sound reactionary, not like someone who’d actually read Gestalt. Drunk on my stupidity, I can’t seem to stop. ‘Get it? Holism? ‘Cause I’m all—’
‘Holes.’ He answers for me, his tone cold. ‘Yes, I understand. You have three of them, available for anyone willing to put up with your attitude.’
I resist thefuck youbalanced on the end of my tongue, replying lightly. ‘You know, that wasn’t very nice.’
‘If it’s nice you’re after, go next door. Ask for Charles.’ His body barely touches mine, his hand splayed on the table next my face. ‘My ex-wife tells me he’s an adequate lay, though a little straight-laced. He doesn’t do arse.’
My first reaction is to assert that I don’t either. But I don’t—can’t. Not with his mouth at my ear, his words snaking down my spine and ending in a shiver. Even as I mentally slot away the small insight into his life.
