Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,20

the big round armrests of our armchairs.

“Well, you’re wrong. You’re beautiful without knowing it. Smart without being mean about it. Strong without punishing others with it. And caring without expecting anything in return for it.”

I melt into velvet red seat, overwhelmed by how much I want this man to take me.

“Is that a line from a movie?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“No,” Dylan says, “just the truth.”

Everything goes black, and for a moment I’m not sure if it’s finally happened, if my fragile essence has finally experienced so much of Dylan that it’s extinguished itself; if my heart has finally been overwhelmed by the sexuality, tenderness, and passion I’m feeling.

Then the screen lights up, and I come back to reality.

I press myself down into the seat when the movie starts, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. There’s no chance I’ll be able to concentrate, but maybe I can use this time in the dark to compose myself a little more.

That hope disappears when I feel strong, rough hands reach into my lap with firm gentleness. I look to the side and see Dylan staring at me, his face hard and serious, the determination of his desire written clearly on his face.

I turn back to the screen, and Dylan separates my hands, taking one of them loosely and stroking my palm. It’s the slightest of brushes, the most gentle of strokes, and it teases all my wet, hot impulses to the surface. I try to pull myself back out of the haze of lust, but his fingers keep teasing, tying themselves with mine, not letting me come back from the waves of pleasure that Dylan is conducting inside of me like an orchestra.

Finally I give in, letting myself get lost in the abstract joy that comes from Dylan’s fingertips. I put my other hand on his, and trace the veins over the back of his hand, the tough knuckles, the perfectly proportioned fingers.

Then the lights go up. The screen is dark. I blink in the bright light, wondering if there’s a problem. Dylan’s fingers wrap around my hand as he stands up.

“You okay?” he asks, when he sees how confused I look.

“What happened to the movie?” I say, confused and startled.

Dylan chuckles lightly.

“It’s over. Wasn’t that enough for you?”

“Oh,” I say, smiling with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize.”

Dylan leads me outside, calling his goodbyes out as we go, his hand pushing softly against my back, sliding down my arm as he takes my hand, every touch sending chimes of excitement through me like hammered piano chords.

He drives me back home, a silent promise between us, our desires too obvious, and so precariously balanced that words would only ruin them. He stops the car and kills the engine, not even looking at me as he steps out and walks over to the passenger side, where he opens the door and helps me out.

We walk up the path in front of my building, my heels tapping on the concrete in a slow rhythm, a beat that signifies something big is coming. I shake and tremble with every step, my heart tumbling like a rolled die, my breath fizzing like poured champagne. I can’t bear it anymore, I’ve been holding my breath since I got out of the car, and if I don’t speak, then I’ll never breathe out.

“Doing the gentlemanly thing again?” I say, as I step towards my door.

I look at Dylan, his eyes narrowed with want, the lust in his face so powerful it’s almost threatening, dangerous, frightening.

He grabs my waist in his hand and shoves his body against me, slamming me up against the front door. I let him squeeze me there, almost blown back by the force of his body’s peaking virility.

“I don’t feel like being a gentleman anymore.”

Chapter 7

Dylan

I don’t kiss her. Not yet. I can tell she’s been aching for this all evening – maybe even longer. I can feel the way her muscles are like tightly wound guitar strings under my hands, vibrating sweetly when I touch them.

As for me, I feel like a raging bull they just pulled the gate open for. I’ve held back so many urges that I’m ready to explode, scared of my own power, trying to control my racing thoughts but too distracted by my need, not to mention the incredible woman that I’m pushing up against the door.

I hold myself over her, our faces close enough for our short breaths to mix, close enough to smell her sweet perfume, close