Page 65 of The Delivery

Mozey’s mouth is perfection: his tempo, his grace, the lazy insistence of his tongue. His touch dissolves me, and I melt and fold myself into it. I hold back everything to keep from coming into his mouth. I want his whole body pressed against mine, to feel the weight of his flesh. I want to see his face, look right into his eyes so he can see what he does to me.

“Please stop,” I gasp, grabbing ahold of his hair. “Take me to bed,” I plead, breathless from lust.

He grabs me around the waist and hikes me up to his chest. How strange it is to be close like this when we’ve been close in every other possible way besides this. Has it all been leading up to this moment or is this the beginning of the end? Once we consummate our mutual obsession, will our friendship be dead?

Mozey lays me on the bed and aggressively tosses off the pillows. There are so many pillows the tossing is inordinately long, and I giggle. Mozey’s eyes are almost black, and they glimmer with mischief. He lays his body over mine and props up on one elbow, taking my face in his other hand. He looks at me earnestly, then brings his mouth to mine. I’ve always admired Mo’s mouth more than any other feature. He can kiss so soft and adoringly, yet he’s got the kind of mouth that looks like it could make a short meal of me. It’s wolfish and wide, his lips full and defined. He’s got naturally sharp canines, and we already know that he bites.

In a single breath, his kiss goes from sweet to ferocious as his tongue, at first timid, thrusts deeply into my mouth. His lips trail a path to my breast, and his fingers delve between my legs, uncovering the center of my longing. I’m almost embarrassed by how wet I am, but I can’t help but respond to his hand as he pushes deeply inside me. I shamelessly ride his hand as he fucks me with his fingers. I’ve been waiting so long to have him my body is in overdrive, drowning in desire.

“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure as to why I’m apologizing.

“The only thing I’m sorry about is not doing this sooner.”

Mozey reaches for his belt buckle, and I grab his hand to stop him.

“I want to do it.”

His face breaks into a smile, and he rolls to the side, throwing his hands up in surrender. He watches me carefully as I undo his belt buckle and unzip his pants. I reach into his underwear and wrap my hand around his thick shaft. I really think I could come from just touching him and inhaling his scent. A spontaneous orgasm. It wouldn’t be a surprise considering all of the times I’ve reached orgasm from touching myself while imagining it was him who was doing the touching.

I throw my leg over his hip, and Mozey reaches behind his head tugging off his shirt from the back of his neck. Then we’re naked together, and I relish every point of contact between our two bare-skinned bodies. He kisses me again, and I become liquid heat. First my bones, then my muscles all melt away until I’m nothing but flesh with ten million pinpoints of sensory receptors. Mozey rolls on top of me and pushes my thighs apart with his knees. I want him inside of me, to fill me with himself. My hips thrust toward his pelvis, but my conscious is battling me. There’s still a tiny part of me that wants to shove him off and stop. I don’t want to ruin us; it’s all too precious to me. Am I leaving tomorrow? Will I never again see him?

“You want me to back off?” he asks, his breath coming fast in my ear.

He recognizes the doubt in my face. I love him for that.

I love that he has so much self-control. I feel like most men wouldn’t even acknowledge it. They’d try to pretend they didn’t see. Mozey touches my face again and kisses me both tender and deep. He holds his weight off with his arms so he’s not grinding himself into me. I love his decency. I love his restraint. I love both of those things as much as I love his sexuality.

“Do you want to just shower and get something to eat? Maybe we should try to see the city before we head back up North?”

“You don’t want this?” I ask, this time my mouth taking charge and capturing his. He kisses me back with an enthusiasm that is heart stopping.

“I’m just as scared as you are, Lana. I want this more than anything, but I want it to last for us too. I don’t want anything you’re not ready for.”

We stare at each other, searching for answers in one another’s eyes. Then Mozey rolls off of me and strides to the shower. His hard-muscled ass is amazing, and I can’t tear my eyes from his form.

“Might as well get up, Lana. We got work to do today. I already sent a message out to the media that I’d be taking a DNA test.”

“What?”

Apparently he’s got big plans he’s not letting me in on.

I hear him turn on the shower and flush the toilet in the bathroom. I slip into his discarded t-shirt and wrap my arms around myself. I know he’s respecting my hesitancy, but I can’t help but feel a little bit rejected. Maybe it will never happen. I should resign myself to that. We’re too much like partners or best friends to up and become lovers. Maybe there’s no spark. But why am I lying to myself? There’s a spark there for me—a blistering hot charge. It’s burning. I can feel it. And when I felt Mozey in my hands; he was so fucking hard.

I open the sliding glass door and step into the shower after I’ve taken off his shirt. I cling to his body and sob like a child into his neck.

“We’ll get there, baby. The time wasn’t right,” Mozey says, moving my wet hair away from my face and stroking my back. “We’ve got plenty of days ahead of us to figure out how we work.”

I nod my head and sniffle and accept the bar of soap from him. He’s still swollen and hard, and I can’t stop admiring his nakedness and the masculine perfection I always imagined would be there. It’s even better in person. I can’t help but feel sad because our relationship keeps running in circles and we never seem to get anywhere.

“You know I want you right? I’ve always wanted you. That wasn’t a rejection,” he says and pushes me against the tile wall. His kiss is demanding and urgent and steals my full attention. Then his hand slips between my legs, and he connects with my beating pulse there. He’s agile and quick and uses the precise amount of pressure. When his fingers enter me, my whole body contracts and then shudders.

“I’m not against trying again,” I whisper into his wet mouth.

“I just want you to come, Lana. Let go of yourself.”

Mozey slides his fingers in and out of me with a hypnotic rhythm that brings me right to the edge. His thumb circles my clit while his tongue ravages my mouth. I hold my breath until I reach the boiling point. There’s nowhere else I can go. I cry out and grasp his wrist as he gently fingers me down. My body spasms almost violently against his as the tremors spill through me. What started in the core of my sex rings out forcefully throughout the rest of my body. My skin prickles, my muscles quiver, and my very bones threaten to shatter. I’ve gone from being a whole person to becoming disconnected matter. So many years of sexual tension has my body on panic mode when it comes to Mozey.

I lean forward in a gesture to protect my body from any more advances. After an orgasm like that, another orgasm seems dangerous. I stumble back until my legs come into contact with a tiled half wall, that’s probably there for products, but I sit my ass down on it.

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