Chapter Fourteen
I pack boxes all day on Saturday and when the sun sets, he offers to take me to dinner as a thank you. It’s a sweet gesture and one I hope will lead to more romance but I can feel that it’s also his way of evening out the score and letting me know he will do the rest himself.
Our conversation at dinner is neutral, Savannah news and weather, but I touch him a lot and he starts to loosen up. He holds my hand as we leave the restaurant. When we’re blasted by a chilly breeze he puts his arm across my shoulders and pulls me in close. There’s a spark there, I can feel it but unlike him, I can’t turn it off.
Back at his place, parked in his driveway he hesitates. We sit in silence and I feel like he’s waiting for me to do something but I don’t know what. Is he waiting for me to announce that I’m going home? Because that’s not happening. I can feel his reluctance but it only makes me want to work harder, to show him how great we could be together.
He finally opens his door and asks, “You coming in?” It’s not exactly seduction but I’ll take it.
Things are no less strained inside. He seems lost amid the sea of boxes. He doesn’t offer so I don’t take off my jacket. Instead I stand in the foyer waiting for his next move.
“Thanks for your help today.” He looks around, acknowledging all our hard work.
“Not a problem. I can help tomorrow too.” As in, why don’t I spend the night and we can get back to work tomorrow. I hope he gets the hint because it’s about as forward as I can get with him. Will I ever be able to completely relax when we are together?
He catches my hint but doesn’t grab on. “Vivey,” he takes my hand and studies it as he rubs his thumb across it. His tone is gentle for his brush-off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let things get to this point.”
I try to make things lighter. “What? Me helping you pack?”
He replies with his standard glare. “Us sleeping together. New Orleans was…” He struggles to find the words. I wait, not breathing, my throat closing around a lump of fear. “We were both hurting, needed each other, but…”
I can’t let him do this. I won’t let him finish dismissing me from his life. I grab on to a final thread. “Fine.” My voice cracks with my lie. It’s not fine but I have to pretend it is if I want to stay in his life. “We can go back to being friends. Friends help each other move.”
He looks up and shakes his head, possibly pleading for help from my dad to win this argument with me. “That’s just it. I don’t want to just be friends. I feel great when I’m with you, but there is nowhere for this to go.” When he looks at me, he sees the hope in my eyes. The only thing I heard was that he feels great when we are together. Anything after that was lost to me. He fixes me with his gaze. “I’m leaving. There’s no way around it.”
“So let’s feel great together until you do.” I use his words against him but leave off until I figure out another plan. I lean into him, terrified that he will pull back. He doesn’t but it takes him a minute before he releases his resolve on a sigh and kisses me.
I’m instantly flooded with a combination of joy and lust. I’m winning. And I’m determined to keep winning. I peel off my jacket and toss it on the floor then reach for his. I know he said he likes to be in charge during sex but I have to be right now. When he admitted that he loves sex with me he gave me ammo and I’m going to use it.
I’m pouring every bit of sexy I’ve got into this kiss while pulling my tee shirt up. I press myself hard against him when I have to break the kiss to get my shirt over my head. I realize that I’m more into this than he is, but I also feel his resolve melting away. I pop my bra open and it falls between us. He looks down and I follow his line of sight strait to my nipples, chilled and excited and beaded in his direction. He slowly reaches up and puts a warm hand over one and I know I’ve got him just as much as he’s got me. We both moan with pleasure.
I feel powerful and sexy. I grab the hem of his shirt and push it up until he has to lift his arms so I can get it over his head. I wrap my arms around his neck and graze my nipples against his warm skin and the hair on his chest. I can’t imagine how he’s not feeling the same white-hot need that I am but I still feel his indecision. His arms are around me but not pulling me to him. I kiss him again, letting him feel my desire, and then I add, “Make me feel good.” My voice is muted by my heavy breathing. “Let me make you feel good.” And please, please do not turn me down now because I couldn’t take it.
My pleading is his undoing. He pulls me in tight, bends his knees slightly, then stands and lifts me with him as he moves toward the bedroom. Yes! Oh, God yes! I might come just from the thrill of victory. I’ve seduced the man of my dreams.
✈✈✈
But my victory is short lived. He’s on board but determined to take over. He can’t let me win and have my way. He tosses me on the bed and I reach for him but he backs away. He sits on the end of the bed, too far away for me to touch him, but close enough that I can see what he’s doing. He leans down and unties his shoe before pulling it off. Then he does the same to the other. It’s a painfully slow process that has me squirming with frustration as I feel my passion starting to cool. I reach for the button on my jeans but he reaches around and stops me. He places my arms above my head one by one, not speaking but also not bothering to hide his agenda. It kills me but I stay put. I lay there and watch as he continues to slowly undress.
It’s one hell of a show with a finale that has my mouth watering but I hate only being allowed to be the audience. I keep my hands where he put them but I clench my fingers and pop my knuckles in frustration. He goes into his bathroom and I can hear him opening and closing now empty drawers. He has to be looking for his stash of condoms.
“I moved them to your top dresser drawer.” I call from the bed.
He doesn’t respond but comes out of the bathroom and glares at me for reading his mind and being right. What was I supposed to do, wait for him to rifle through every box in the room? I keep my hands in place but glare back. Excuse me for solving your problem.
He tosses a string of three wrapped condoms on the night stand.
I smile up at him. “Three?” And I wiggle my eyebrows.
He tries but can’t hold on to his power face and he laughs. “If you’re lucky.”
I don’t disagree because I can’t. He’s right.
He lays down next to me and pulls me to him. I wrap my arms around his neck. His look reminds me that that is not where he wants them. I argue, “They were falling asleep.” He studies my face and I feel like a child caught lying, probably because I am. “Don’t you trust me?”
His answer is a very strong and too honest, “no.”
I flinch and he softens the blow by kissing me. Then he lays down the rules for the night. “You want me to make you feel good and I want to and I will, but I don’t want to fight you or have to second guess your every move.” He pushes the hair off my neck and kisses me where he knows I love it. I dissolve into liquid. “Relax. Can you do that for me?”
I nod my agreement even though I’m seriously questioning my ability to do this. Relaxing is a foreign concept to me. Surrendering is the antithesis of my being.