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The thing is that she broke up with Chris two weeks ago. She hasn’t told Tim yet because she’s enjoying the way he stalks around, with enticement turned up to eleven. He’s actively trying to seduce her and while she desperately wants to give in, she’s really enjoying this. She’s told Angela, so if Tim is mad about it, or complaining about it, Angela can end the whole charade. But that hasn’t happened. Which means that he’s enjoying it, too.
There’s not a quiet corner of the station he hasn’t backed her into, pressing his chest against her back, palming her hip or her ribs or the back of her neck. Learning how his hot breath ghosting against her neck or her ear or her jaw makes her squirm or arch in different ways. Counting how long it takes her to push back against him, to force more contact.
He fights dirty.
She knows the reach of his hand, his thumb tucked between her breasts and his pinky teasing her belling button. She knows that his hand can stretch all the way under her jaw, middle finger on that soft, sensitive spot behind her ear and thumb caressing her tattoo. She’s felt the tantalizing bulge of his half-hard cock against the swell of her ass.
She wouldn’t exactly have had the time to date her boyfriend, either, because suddenly Tim’s a social butterfly and if there’s an opportunity to be out, he’s taking it. She’s yet to be able to turn down an invitation from him and he knows it.
He’s bold. After a drink or two he touches her in front of their friends in a way that’s too familiar and too possessive for her to be with someone else. He tunes half into the conversations she has with Angela, Nyla, or Bailey while he has conversations with Wesley, James, or John because every time she makes an observation about her (former) relationship with Chris he’ll lean over and whisper in her ear how he would’ve have done it differently. Better.
At first it’s sweet – a date he would have planned better, a night he would have insisted on staying home, a dinner he’d have made that she actually would have liked. It doesn’t take long for him to pick up on sideways comments about her sex life. He starts asking questions that she tries to answer with glances and single-word responses, trying to hide the way it thrills her to have covert conversations with him about sex.
He starts making comments.
You know I can see down your top, right? — She knows, she wore this very uncomfortable bra under this shirt for a reason.
You smell like sweat. And me. I like it. — He’s right. The sweat is from throwing a Frisbee for Kojo for forty-five minutes. His t-shirt is a happy accident after she fumbled her iced tea. She’d done a quick change in his backseat in the parking lot at the food truck park. The dark purple bra she’s wearing is barely visible through the bright white of the worn, soft cotton.
A margarita glass sweats onto her chest. A napkin appears in her peripheral vision. — Need help with that? He plays keep away for just a beat too long, his eyes, disappearing into her cleavage right after the drop of cold water.
Then he starts dropping filthy little tidbits into her ear, hidden in the silk of her hair.
He pulls no punches and now she knows the sound of Tim Bradford asking if she has a strong opinion on giving head. And she knows he has a lot of strong opinions on the subject. And that his somewhat shy and awkward nature about personal topics is at least partially an act. It takes three different outings, but he tells her all his tricks. And by the time he says clit with a flick of his tongue against her ear, she has to dig her fingernails into his thigh just to keep from embarrassing everybody at their table.
It goes on this way for weeks until one night they both come out of bar bathrooms into a dark, narrow hallway at the same time. There’s no pretext when he backs her into the farthest corner and shoves his tongue in her mouth. She surges up on her toes, meeting him in the middle, practically climbs his body when he hoists her up against him.
His hands are under her skirt and inside her underwear, palms against the flesh of her ass. “I can’t play anymore.”
“Me either,” she says, a catch in her breath when his fingertips tease into the split between her legs.
“I think I’ve had a hard-on for a solid week.”
“Take me home.”
He kisses her again, wet and deep. He sets her back down, letting her body drag all the way down the front of his. She doesn't know if the press of his hard cock between her legs, then against her belly, or the way he tweaks one of her hard nipples is better. They’re both so good. He pushes her out the back door next to them and they’re in the parking lot, twenty feet from his truck.
Before they even get out of the parking lot his hand is high on her thigh. She rucks her skirt up so she can feel the heat of his hand but she knows he can’t reach her while he’s driving, and that he shouldn’t. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t drop her own hand between her legs. She doesn’t want to come on her fingers, not when she’s got much nicer options if she’ll just wait. Still, she likes the way he looks at her with hooded eyes when he hears the wet slide of her fingers in the quiet of the cab.
At a stoplight he palms his erection, eyes hot and heavy on her, on the shadowed space between her legs. She can smell the tang of her arousal in the recirculated cabin air. The way he licks his lips make her think he can too and now all she can picture is the way he described the hot, wet, open-mouthed attention he has planned for the first time he gets his head between her legs.
In his driveway he cuts the ignition of the truck and instructs her to stay where she is with a no-nonsense, skin-tinglingly rough, “just sit there.” He wrenches the passenger door open, wrests her around to face him, yanks her to the edge of the seat, then gets on his knees on the concrete and buries his head under her skirt, one of her legs thrown over his shoulder and one foot propped against the door-hinge. He teases her, mouth hot, with the cotton of her underwear between his strong tongue and her slick flesh. She arches back against the console until it digs into her back with a bite. He gets up when her underwear is soaked from both sides and kisses her. She can taste herself on him, along with cotton, the scent of her fabric softener, and the beer he’d had at the bar. He rips his mouth from hers and gestures towards the house with a jerk of his head.
He’s got his front door open before she trusts her legs to hold her up when she slides out of the truck.
She waits impatiently, standing in his living room, while he lets Kojo out and then back in, then gives the dog a coveted chew treat.
Then, he surges against her, pushing her backwards into the arms he’s wrapping around her and lifting her to wrap herself around him. She toes off her shoes somewhere in the hallway leading to his bedroom. By the time he lays her back onto the bed, his pants are pushed down around his thighs, her skirt is around her waist and she’s yanking her underwear to the side.
He follows her onto the bed, one knee bent, the other using the floor as leverage as he goes from carrying her to stroking inside her in one so smooth move.
She cries out with the relief of it. Their breaths are hot and harsh, forced out around the clash of their mouths, she nips at his upper lip and gets half-off on the wet sound of his thrusting. She gets a hand between her legs, she doesn’t need to wait for some magic moment. She wants to come around him, make his rhythm falter, and then see if she can come again when he’s working on his.
Her orgasm is quick and sharp, she feels it in her nipples and rippling across her scalp. He feels the deep squeeze inside her and grunts. He rides it out, using the break to push her further up the bed, to get all the way on it with her and sink into the cradle of her hips.
He thrusts hard, jolting her, forcing the headboard into the wall with a knock that makes the dog bark. She laughs and presses a hand against the wood, bracing herself for the next impact.
She wraps her other hand around the back of his neck, threads her fingers into the short hair there, scrapes her fingernails against this scalp and makes him shudder. He likes that. She drops her bracing hand to work his shirt up over his shoulders and he drives her head into the headboard. “Ow,” she groans with a laugh, and he chuckles as he flips them over. She’s fully clothed over him, riding him. One hand planted on his flexed abs, his t-shirt wrapped around his neck.
He pushes her top over her head, ravaging what’s left of her hairstyle. Her skirt follows the path of her top and she’s left in pale blue cotton panties and a white satin bra she hadn’t planned to get laid in, but here they are. He must like it, though, because he loses his rhythm at the sight of her breasts. She takes the chance to dismount him, and she’s got her underwear halfway pushed down when he rolls back over her. Their hands tangle getting the fabric pushed all the way down her legs. He sits back and yanks his shirt over his head. He gets off-balance from the half-off jeans, but he manages to get those off too while she tosses her bra.
He takes a deep breath and takes her in, her chest is heaving from the exertion and the laughter. He looks a half-second too long and she reaches for him, her fingers barely brush over his ribs and he surges back into action, hovering over her, hooking one arm under one of her thighs, tilting her pelvis, and sinking back into her.
She loses her groan into his mouth. He fucks into her at both connection points, his tongue somehow feeling dirtier and more possessive than his cock inside her. She feels the telltale tingles building low, behind the more insistent and immediate pleasure of his thumb pressing against her clit, from the constant pressure and the way he’s filling her.
She feels full and loose and wet and tight. She has her hands on him, all over him, her fingertips fascinated by the smoothness of his skin, the way his muscles tense and power them through to pleasure. She strokes her hands over a place on his back that makes him groan and push into her, holding his hips against hers tight, pressing her thighs all the way open. She does it again, and he presses himself against her tighter. The way her tendons pull inside her, flexing against his weight, pulls her orgasm down from her fingertips and toes centering it like a fusion reaction, splitting her down the center, catching her by surprise. This one is deep and savage, pulling the pleasure from the tingly part of her neck, down every vertebra, and forcing it out, into her pulsing center. She clenches around him, and he grunts, his hips spasming against her as he empties himself.
She squeezes his hips with her thighs and rests her hands lightly on his shoulder blades, hoping he stays where he is a little longer because she likes the weight of him pressing her against his mattress. He does stay, long enough to catch his breath, long enough that she’s got her fill of it and so when he rolls aside, she doesn’t feel a loss. Long enough that when he pulls himself out of her, she can feel the difference between how hard he was and how he is now. She loves that. It’s so personal.
She feels sloppy between her legs and she loves that too. She enjoys it for a few minutes, fingers tracing along her inner thigh, along the crease of her leg at her body, into her tender-to-the-touch folds, and then excuses herself to the bathroom. She pees and then cleans up a little. Looking at her skin in the mirror, she’s pink in places and can see a few pressure bruises from some tight grips he’d taken and it makes her smile to see them on her skin. She washes her hands with a bar of soap that laces the heady scent of bayberry through the tiny room. She recognizes the smell of his skin and her nipples tighten.
He wanders in a moment later and they look at each other in the mirror, naked bodies in low light. He presses her backside against the cold counter and kisses her, she feels their wetness on his soft cock smearing on her skin and fuck. She gives it a caress and he nips at her jaw.
She leaves him to use the bathroom and do a little cleanup of his own. In the bedroom she checks the state of the sheets and it looks like they avoided the worst of a wet spot. She finds a t-shirt in a drawer and pulls it on before climbing back into his bed. She’s comfortable before she realizes it hadn’t even occurred to her not to stay.
He slides in next to her. He pulls her into his side and nuzzles his face into her neck. “How long were you planning to fuck with me, anyway?” He’s amused though, she can hear it in his voice.
“What? You weren’t having fun?”
“You know I was having fun,” he says lowly.
“When did Angela tell you?”
“Two weeks ago.”
She snorts. “Wow, you were really playing the long game, huh?” coaxed
He hums sleepily. “We’ll play the long game. After a nap.”
She rolls her eyes, even though he’s already half asleep. She’s not far behind him.