how low it goes. She hides her face as I stare openly at her, showing how much I really do find her beautiful.
“Y-Yes,” she stutters a bit, then she straightens her spine, almost like she hates seeming fragile. She’s not. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met. And that’s saying a lot. “If you’re ready for bed, that is.” The way she changes her voice to sound less forward has me rising from my desk and stalking toward her. The way she backs up a step just to stop and hold her ground has heat gathering in my chest and groin.
“T-Toby,” she stumbles over her words again. My dick twitches at it. The way she’s so small in comparison to me. Like a tiny doll that I’ll keep forever if she’ll let me. Her hands slide up my arms, caressing, telling me without saying a word, but I want to hear it.
“Yes?” I prod gently, wanting her to be open about what she wants. I crave it. Need it. Savor it.
“I want you,” she breathes softly. Almost missing the promise in her words, I suck in air, not knowing if she’s ready for it. For me. For us. For this. Especially after our conversation tonight. She waits for my response, not looking at me but gripping my arms at this point and trying to convey it with the pressure.
Tilting her chin up, needing to see her facial expressions, I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Josephine,” I request gruffly, unsure of how much restraint I truly have. “I need you to be specific. Tell me what you want, spell it out for me. I don’t want to cross a line.”
Her eyes flutter slowly, sweetly, the lashes meeting her cheeks. “I want you,” she enunciates, her expression alight with fear and desire, swirling together to make a toddy mixture that swims through me. What does she want? Me to hold her? Kiss her? Love her? Fuck her?
Maybe she just needs me to be here for her. Maybe she needs a sweet and platonic touch. Her expression can show so much but tell so little. She pulls on the waist of my slacks with her right forefinger, her touch separated by my tucked-in shirt. Even then, it takes a lot not to groan. We haven’t touched in months. It was my attempt of trying not to push, knowing she wanted more than fucking.
“I need you to give me something better to remember on this night, old man.”
“If I push too hard, tell me, okay?” I request, hoping she sees that tenderness is what I’ll offer.
“You won’t, but yes, okay.” She nods as she says this, almost as if she needs me to both see and hear she’s sure.
I grip her face, wanting to feel her pale rose lips against my mouth. Swiping my thumb across her chin to put this moment in memory, I watch her smile. Her teeth nip at me as she playfully shakes her hips.
Instead of swatting her ass like I want, I kiss her. Her lips are stiff for only a breath, her surprise leaks away with my control. We battle, her tongue fighting mine, her teeth hitting mine, and our flavors intermingling. She’s sweet like I remember, perfect like I can never forget, and all mine for now.
She moans as my tongue brushes the ridges of the roof of her mouth. I guide her backward toward our bedroom, the one I’ve yet to taste, touch, or experience her in other than sleeping. After she nearly stumbles, our lips not leaving one another, I lift her, waiting for her to clutch me in that delicious way I crave.
Joey doesn’t disappoint, digging her heels into the dimples on my lower back. As we make our way to the room, she rips at my shirt, uncaring that it’s Tom Ford and expensive as shit. She pulls it from me right as I lower her on our bed. Her expression heated, she touches her puffy lips with a grin.
She leans back, and her robe comes undone, revealing her lack of attire. She’s bare. One hundred and ten percent naked. It’s almost as if she’s untouched and innocent and not like the vixen who battled me for months with her tongue, body, and words.
“Fuck,” I grunt as she pulls the robe off, leaving it underneath her like a display, making her my very own meal platter to feast upon.
“What’s it going to be, old man?” Our eyes connect as she bites her bottom