Page 81 of First Surrender

“I don’t understand.”

“We already had our spur-of-the-moment night. This next time has to mean something because I need to know that you won’t run from me after. I won’t be able to bear it this time if Ihave to watch you walk away,” I tell her truthfully, searching her eyes for any indication that she’s understanding me.

“This is strange,” she ponders, trying to cover up with the sheet.

“Why? Because I’m telling you that I care about you?”

“Yes,” she states matter of factly like duh.

“Does it have to be a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. I’m used to guys harassing me about having sex until I have to give in, not making me wait.”

“What the hell do you mean? No, you know what, never mind. I don’t want to hear about another man touching you.” I grab her by her thighs and pull her back toward me since she had managed to scoot a couple of inches away.

“I’m asking you to think about this because I want you to choose me with no underlying reason other than wanting this. Not because you’re sad, angry, or needing to scratch an itch.” I throw the words back at her that she used as her excuse the last time we had sex.

“What if you don’t want me in the morning?” She asks, meekly.

“I’ve wanted you every morning, day, and night since you strutted your ass in front of me at the courthouse. What we did in my office is nothing compared to what I want to do to you now, but I need to know that you want to stay. No more running.”

“Okay, fine.” As she says the words I can see the tension in her body building. She’s not fine, she’s panicking. “Can I have another shirt?”

Her arms awkwardly hover around her chest, unsure if she should cover her nudity until I grab her wrists gently, pinning them to the bed on either side of her.

“No, I’m all out.” I eye her bare breasts hungrily because I’m still a man after all.

“You’re such an ass.” She rolls her eyes but smiles.

“I need to shower, do not leave this bed.”

“What if I need a shower?” She tugs her hands back, but she’s teasing me now, and that’s a good sign.

“You know I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Give me a chance to show you I’m the right choice, alright?”

“Fine, but keep the door open.” She leans back on the pillows with her hair flowing down her shoulders, her panties high on her hips, and her perfect tits out. I want to kick myself in the face for ever attempting to be a good guy.

“Yes, ma’am,” I grumble to the bathroom, taking my clothes off and stepping into the glass-walled shower, having the absolute best view in the world with no intention of taking advantage of it. Dammit.

I can’t keep my eyes off her, though, and she watches me with equal fascination. Her siren eyes track every move I make, including as I fist myself with a soapy hand.

I only meant to tease her a bit, but when her knees widen I can’t stop my hand from jerking. She slides the black cotton down her legs, flinging it away, and baring herself to me completely. My other hand grips the shower door handle but I’m not sure if I’m trying to keep it closed or throw it open.

My little fireball is trying to fucking kill me.

Her hand slides down her stomach, teasingly slow, her fingertips dancing delicately across her creamy skin like I’ve dreamed of doing a million times. By the time she reaches her clit, circling it with the tip of her middle finger, I’m cumming like a teenager against the fogged-up glass.

She’s never going to let me live this down.

I know because she’s still smiling smugly as I stalk toward her with a towel around my waist. Her legs start to close but a quick shake of my head halts her knees from moving. “My fingers or my mouth? That’s all you get tonight.”

Her tongue sneaks out, licking her lips, and I grip her ankles in my hands waiting for her response. “Mouth,” she says with a breath and I’m already yanking her toward me. I dive in before she can blink, burying my face against her sweet pussy, and sucking her clit between my lips.

It’s Heaven. It’s everything.

“Fucking, shit, Jackson.” That dirty little mouth. I can’t wait to fuck it.

My tongue laps at her swollen bead, while my hands plaster her hips to my head, not letting her squirm an inch. She tries though, wiggling every time I work a sensitive angle, bucking off the mattress.

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