Page 23 of Throttle

The way he gently touches my hip sends a delightful sensation down between my thighs.

“Think you can manage the rest?”

No. “You’d better help me.” As if undressing was a two-person job.

He seems content with the answer as he promptly brings me closer, securing my waist as I place my palms on his muscular shoulders. He isn't extremely big, but he is tall and has lean muscles. I find his height captivating and love getting lost in it. Would it be weird to want to bury myself inside him and never leave?

Throttle had a knack for treating me as if I were fragile. But I didn't desire to be fragile anymore.

When my dress gathers on the floor, the cold air caresses my skin. Even after downing tequila, I remain vulnerable and filled with awkwardness. Despite Throttle staring at me like a masterpiece, I’m self-conscious standing here braless. He's accidentally caught sight of my ass cheeks on more than one occasion, but he's never seen my breasts.

The soft beam of light stresses specific features on his sculpted face, and the longer we remain in this position, the more comfortable I become. And the more and more my pussy throbs for him.

Throttle has always made me feel at ease. A natural thing, non-forced.

Take me. Touch me.

I beg him. Plead for him without words, but it’s not enough. I don't think I can ever measure up to what he wants.

His breathing is irate. Straining and heavy. There's no way for either of us to go retreat at this point. Right? But he turns away, and my hopes deflate like a child's blow-up pool as I resist the urge to throw myself at him.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes. You know where my shirts are. And you better be clothed when I return.” As soon as the door closes, I’m left standing there, cold, alone, and vulnerable.

What just happened?

Do I repulse him that badly? Maybe my boobs weren’t that great. My chest isn’t Angel’s. But I didn’t think they were disappointing. I’m not convinced by the way his eyes showed both lust and desperation. I was sure he felt it, too.

I grab one of his old band tees from the drawer and put it on. The bottom hem resting on the tops of my knees.

Once again, I feel the urge to hide in a hole and bury myself. Instead, I slip under his sheets and tug them toward me. It's not as if I've never slept in his bed in the past. Many nights were too late for me to go home. But I always craved for it to be different.

With the sound of footsteps, I pretend to be asleep because I’m a coward and what else did I have to lose? My pride was already a dead corpse.

With each passing moment and the weight shifting on the bed beside me, I breathe in the scent that has become all too familiar.

“I’m sorry,” I say with clenched teeth and burning tears.

He sighs. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He spins and scoots closer to me. “Tonight was about keeping you away from trouble. You mean the world to me, Tequila. I have this powerful urge to always protect you. I might have overreacted, but you’re my best friend and I would be destroyed if I let something bad happen to you.”

Let something bad happen to me?

“I’m a big girl, Throttle. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” A silent tear rolls down my cheek and I try to keep him from hearing me cry.

Each time I hear the word friends drip from his mouth—another piece of my heart breaks off.

“I know that. It doesn’t mean I won’t try.” He kisses the top of my head and turns back around, leaving me crushed.

When exhaustion overwhelms me, I surrender and imagine the day Throttle will love me. And hoping I can be less pathetically enamored.

SEVEN

Tequila

Head pounding. Bright light. More pounding.

Upon smelling the leather scented sheets, I realize they don't belong to me.

No vanilla lavender soap.

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