Page 102 of Promise Me Nothing
Her eyes widen. “What?”
My stomach falls at her expression, and I realize I didn’t even think about the fact that she’s been trying to save money.
I stammer out an apology. “I’m sorry. In the moment, it felt like a sweet gesture. But now, I realize I didn’t even ask you.”
But then she smiles. “You know? I really do appreciate that apology. But I was just surprised, not upset.”
“Don’t scare me like that,” I laugh. “I thought you’d be mad that I didn’t ask.”
She scrunches up her nose. “Next time? Ask. But this time is totally okay. I will happily take a day off.”
I laugh, and she loops her fingers into mine.
“Thanks for taking me out. I had a really good time.”
I nod. “Me too.”
We look at each other for a minute, our eyes searching each other, like there might be secrets hidden that we can find if we look hard enough.
But then she steps forward, into me, and I realize she’s been waiting for me to kiss her when all I felt capable of doing was looking at her.
She slides her hands along my ribs and to my back, the tips of her fingers gripping me just slightly as I dip my head to meet hers.
I love the way she tastes. Like the peppermint she ate after dinner, and a little bit like the wine she had a few glasses of. And when she moans into my mouth, a breathy thing that has me pulling her closer, I can’t help but envision what it would be like to hear that noise as I slide inside of her.
My hands slip down over her back, then lower to grip her ass, the firmness, probably from years of running long distances, giving me visions of what she might look like naked, stretched out on my bed.
Before I know it, I’ve pressed her up against the door and my hand is rubbing small circles up her thigh, higher and higher, as we taste and take and grind together.
“Wyatt,” she whispers when my mouth drops to her neck and I suck on her skin. “Do you want to come inside?”
“Inside?” I say, my mind still focused on where my thumb is now stroking along the crease between her thigh and her center, the easy access of her dress too hard to resist. For a brief moment, I envision her asking me to come inside of her, and I groan out loud, my dick pressing firmly against the inside of my slacks at the idea of fucking her right here.
“Upstairs.”
And that’s when I realize she wants me tocome up.The sign for sex. The thing every guy wants on a date. The invitation.
As much as I would love that, my mind won’t allow it. I can’t knowingly go upstairs when there are things she doesn’t know.
But I push that thought aside, deciding to focus instead on not wanting to leave her unsatisfied.
“Right here is fine,” I say, and then I drop to my knees, lifting one of her legs up onto my shoulder.
When I look up at her, I see a glazed over, hazy expression. The lust in her eyes is unmistakable, and when I lean in and nuzzle my face against her panties, she uses her hands to hike her dress up slightly, giving me better access.
Her underwear are plain. Basic black cotton. I think too many people assume that sexy underwear is a turn on. That a lover needs to see a pretty package in order to appreciate what’s inside.
But that’s not the case for me. I wouldn’t care if she was wearing a paper sack under her dress if it was as easy to slide to the side as her underwear are now, the tiny scrap of cotton pushed away to reveal her pussy.
She’s so wet. I can see it gleaming in the low light in the courtyard. I glance up at her one more time as I lean forward and press my tongue to the center of her, stroke it firmly once from core to clit, then fan out to make sure I don’t miss a single spot.
Hannah pants out an impassioned gasp, her eyes following me, her mouth slightly open. And as I move my tongue against her, she starts to roll her hips, a hand coming to rest against the top of my hair.
I want her to grip my hair and press me against her. I’ve always been dominant in bed, wanting control for the most part. But something in me wants her to take the control right now. Wants her to tell me what she wants and how to give it to her.
My tongue continues to lap at her pussy. I raise a hand to part her lower lips, then focus my attention on her tiny little clit, tracing around and around, then sucking lightly. Her head falls back, tapping against the glass of her door and a soft cry of pleasure escapes from between her lips.
“Wyatt,” she whispers. “Shit, what are you doing to me?”
