“Tek?” he whispers.
“I think you might be the one fucking with me.”
“Maybe I am… But also… Maybe I won’t remember this tomorrow.”
Is he giving me permission?
An out?
Is he telling me that whatever happens he’s willing to pretend that it never occurred and walk into work next Tuesday like we were never in this fucking alley?
I could rip his clothes off in seconds if I’d allow myself to.
Maybe it’s what he wants.
I can’t bear to clarify, so I just move.
My fingers shake, mimicking the tremor of Carey's body, as I lower them to the hem of his jeans. Back and forth I trace the leather of his belt until I've built the confidence to lower my hand to his pocket. Flattening it out, I apply just enough pressure to feel the outline of my keys against my palm.
“You caught me.”
If I could think straight, I’d grab my keys and get the hell out of here, but the craving I have for him is so strong all I want to do is push him harder against the wall until the bricks leave marks against his back.
I really could take him right here.
I could tilt his chin, and for the first time in years, take a worthy mouth for my own.
I could guide him to his knees and feel his breath hot against my skin as he looks up at me with those mismatched eyes full of mischief.
I could hold him by the hair and grind against his face until he starts fighting back. Until he takes my hands in his own, and won’t free them until I beg because I need him to make me pay for my anger.
But instead, I leave my keys where they are and snake my touch behind him. When he doesn’t stop me, I slip beneath his shirt and press against the small of his back.
He arches, and I pull him closer.
He moves his leg, wedging his thigh between mine, and I give in completely.
As I hold him still, I grind forward until I feel the sweet relief of contact, and am instantly confronted with how hard he is too.
I want to speak.
I want to tell him how naughty he is, but I know I’m the one in the wrong. Our age difference aside, he’s untouchable, and nothing he could ever say will convince me otherwise.
I’m still not into guys, but the feeling of his dick against me seems so right.
Carey’s lips are parted, and every teasing laugh and suggestive joke is gone, replaced with a quiet desperation so raw I pull him tighter against me.
His head shifts to the side until our temples are gently butting together.
It’s so intimate.
I’ve avoided moments like this for over a decade.
“I’ll only mess with you if you ask me to.” His voice makes my stomach twist in forty-five different directions, but it’s also so much smaller than I’ve ever heard it before.
I beg him; “Tell me to stop."
“No.”
