“I... um,” I stammer as he hits a sensitive spot inside. I clench down and he groans as my arousal gushes out. Everything about him sets my body on fire, causing me to blurt out, “I lied at my house, by the pool. I wouldn’t have regretted it. It’s you, Jack. You’re the only guy I like here.”
His mouth hinges wide as he tastes my neck and pumps his finger deeper and harder. He breathes heavy through his nose, reflecting his hunger.
I shudder and exhale a soft moan, which makes him grip me harder. I love it, fear it, and want more.
Desire consumes my senses and I reach behind me, but hesitate.
“Can I touch you?”
His cheeks rise as he smiles against my neck. “Fuck yes.”
Cautiously, I find the waistband of his jeans and slip my hand down. I hold my breath as I lace my fingers around his hot shaft. It’s thick and rock hard, yet smooth as silk.
He releases a low groan against my skin upon the contact. “You have no idea how the feel of your hand on my cock is being seared into my memory.”
I blush, feeling strangely proud.
But I don’t know what I am doing. I am self-conscious, too, afraid someone might see us. Not just because of appearances, but because I thought moments like this are supposed to be private. Something sacred. Nothing is like I imagined, yet with Jack, I am unable to stop myself.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, then clasp his jaw and lead his mouth to mine.
I kiss him like I wanted to at the pool. I kiss him like he’s important to me, because he is. He’s an addictive secret, and I don’t want to share.
When our lips part, he asks, “Wanna finish what we started?”
Even I know what that means.
I turn around, forcing him to withdraw his finger from my body.
“Um, I need to know something. If we slept together, would you discard me after?”
He doesn’t seem shocked by the question. He simply cocks his head and stares down at me.
“Probably,” he answers, then tastes my arousal still coating his finger.
My eyes widen, in awe he just did that.
He continues, “Isn’t that what you want? Don’t fool yourself, Morgan. Your father hates me, you’ll marry someone of the same faith, and your congregation won’t follow you if you’re with an atheist.”
“That’s true,” I mutter bitterly.
I need time to let those truths really sink in. I want to believe if we slept together that night on the couch, I would be fine after. However, I’m impulsive with Jack. I know I am. My body’s desires cloud my judgement. I just don’t understand why guilt doesn’t follow after he touches me.
I take his hand. “I’ll think about it.”
It lasts for just a second, but I catch him cringe like he just lost his chance.
“I’ll keep texting you, though,” I add.
That perks him up. “I’ll settle for that.”
But if I am being honest with myself, I want to give him more than texts. I know he wants the same. I just need to decide if I can handle the aftermath: us eventually cutting ties.
Because when he kisses and touches me, it feels like giving him a piece of myself, and I like that feeling.
“Want to show me more cars?” I ask, so I can stay by his side.
He nods and takes my hand, like I originally hoped. The small act of endearment makes my heart race faster than when we were touching each other.
