Page 12 of Mixed Motives

We break apart, panting, and I study him.

“Such a good boy,” he murmurs, and I shiver with pleasure. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

I nod and bite my lip. “Very much.” I clear my throat and walk my fingers up his chest. “I like the praise.”

“You could use more encouragement and support.”

“Maybe. Sometimes …” I lean down and kiss him again. Then I say against his lips, “I want a man to take charge, but in a specific way. I don’t want to be bossed around. But …” I throw my hands out helplessly. “I guess I want someone to listen to what I don’t say. Like that’s easy.” I snort.

“It’s easy if they’re paying attention.”

I pull him to me, and our lips meet in another kiss that feels right. It feels like electricity. Like the light is going on, and I can see inside the formerly dark rooms of my life.

It’s also hot as hell, because he’s really good at this. Keane is in his own league. He’s not even on the same planet as anyone I’ve kissed before.

I may have started this kiss, but he’s dominating it now. Except I decide I’m not going to let him. I give it right back to him—a fight, almost, of a kiss—and he makes a grumbly noise in the back of his throat that turns me on even more.

One of his hands snakes down to my waist, and I press forward, grinding against him.

I fucking love this.

He sucks on my neck, and I let out a shuddery moan. “Do that again,” I whisper.

Keane chuckles and complies—not hard enough to leave a mark, but certainly hard enough that it’s getting me closer to the edge.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I want you to do whatever you want to me.” I want Keane to use me. I want to see him come unglued.

He inhales sharply and pulls back, those sapphire eyes studying me. Then he kisses me deep and slow, his tongue twining with mine. I’m so turned on that my dick is a solid pole, starting to peek over the top of my borrowed sweatpants.

“Let me see you naked,” he whispers. “I love seeing you in my clothes, but now I want to see you take them off. Slowly.”

While old me would probably feel self-conscious about this, Keane makes me feel both seen and secure. He makes me hot, too, and if he wants to see me, I’ll let him. I don’t think my body is anything special—not like how built he is—but it’s not bad.

Biting my lip, I get up, shuck off my borrowed socks, and then decide to have some fun with this. I turn around and ease up the loose T-shirt so that just a sliver of my skin is exposed.

My ass is one of my best features. I know this. And Keane reaches out as if to squeeze it, then stops himself. Like he’s delaying the pleasure.

After teasing him a bit, I turn around and pull the T-shirt over my head from the back, smiling at him shyly.

He makes no move to hurry me up or say I’m doing anything wrong. His eyes are heated, and he seems all the more tempted by what I’m not doing as by what I’m doing.

I notice the huge erection in his pants, and that makes my heart leap.

Fuck. Yes.

Finally, I drop the shirt to the floor. That leaves me standing in too-big sweatpants, which I let slip down to expose my hip bone and the tip of my dick. Then I return to Keane and straddle his legs, brushing my dick against his thigh as I do it.

He groans, and while I can tell he wants to touch me, he keeps his hands firmly on the arms of the chair.

I start a lap dance. That’s not something I’m familiar with doing, but I can move a little bit, and I like the way he’s watching me. I slide my hand into the sweats, stroking myself. I’m commando, and that feels more intimate than I expected.

Keane tsks. “Naughty boy,” he warns. “That’s for me to do.”

“I can’t help it,” I whimper. “You’re just so hot.” I bite my lip. “I had this discussion with my best friend about expectations of putting out on the first date.”

Immediately, Keane holds his hands up. “You don’t have to?—”

---