Chapter 24 Grace
Grace
After another kissing session under the gazebo, we decide we’d better get home. Only Johnson has an unmistakable bulge in front of his shorts that still hasn’t gone away, and we need to pass by Barry on the way out.
“Um, Grace. I’m going to carry the picnic basket strategically.”
I show mercy, volunteering to bring Barry his ‘thank you’ swag from the car so Johnson can stay out of the fray with his ‘predicament.’
Once I get back in the car, I can’t help giggling again.
I feel so free. Somewhere along our initial half-mile walk, I gave up all pretense of being anything but myself. For one, Johnson keeps making it clear he wants that. I also find I have zero appetite to censor myself around him, to be anything less than genuine.
If he doesn’t like me for me, then I guess this won’t work out.
The fact that we’re going on dates under the radar gives me a security blanket too. He would be the only one who knows if it didn’t last.
So far, all signs are good, though. Not just good, amazing.
He gives me a quick kiss again before turning the car on. “Best first date ever.”
As he gets us on the road, suddenly, it hits me. My list, it’s going to start being real. And as I look over at Johnson—yeah, he and I are going to be real too.
Which inspires a correction to a thought I had only a few weeks prior.
Now it’s…right time, right place, right guy.
He reaches over to hold my hand once he’s comfortably en route to his house, and we spend most of the drive in silence, just his music playing. His fingers tap in rhythm to the beat of the music within our handhold.
With the pleasant silence in the car allowing me to let my thoughts wander, I start to wonder how these two “activities” will work tonight.
Being watched by an observer—whether it’s when I’m with someone or by myself—has been an ongoing fantasy of mine.
There’s no way Johnson intends to have another person join us, so I’m curious what he has in mind.
My interest in watching him touch himself is more educational. I want to understand what he likes.
Peering back at Johnson as his head bobs slightly to the music, his fingers still playing on my hand, I realize he probably has a plan. Quarterback and all, probably has the “plays” drawn out.
I’ll not worry about it, so he can reveal what he has in mind when he’s ready.
We get to his house a few minutes later. He grabs the picnic basket and opens the door for me.
“Let me take this to the kitchen and get the leftovers in the fridge.”
“Sure,” I agree as I step out of the car.
Once inside, the tension ratchets up, at least for me. Not in a bad way, but out of anticipation about what we’re going to do tonight.
I force myself to stay patient though, as he throws the picnic basket on his kitchen island, and swiftly puts away the food we didn’t eat.
Okay, based on how speedily he is storing the food, he also seems a little eager to get through the clean-up and to the next phase of our evening too.
“I’m going to leave all the trash and dishware for later,” he says, taking a step towards me.
“Sounds good.”
“Come here.” He pulls me towards him and drapes his arms over my shoulders, his eyes hungry—but not for food. “You’re still okay with the options I picked?”
I wrap my arms around his waist and shrink some of the space between our bodies. “Very much so.”
He leans down to kiss me, a punctuation to our agreement. I open up to him as our lips make contact, and he groans in response, bringing his hands up to cradle my face.
The kiss deepens quickly, and I find myself leaning into his strong, warm body, my own arms tight around him.
A minute passes by, our mouths staking their claim on the other. I feel him going hard against me again, and it triggers my own deeper need for more, nerve endings getting fired up in my most sensitive areas.
I want this man so bad. I can’t remember ever feeling this way about someone.
Maybe we should chuck the list in the bin, do this all night?
He breaks apart our kiss a few moments later, apparently also aware we’ve gotten off track. “We should probably head to the TV room if we’re going to stick to the plan?”
I nod and he takes my hand, leading the way.
Once we’ve switched to the TV room, I can’t help giving into my curiosity. “How’s this going to work exactly?”
He looks dangerously excited by my question.
“This is the part I might regret, but rule number one—we can’t touch one another. I’m going to be dying, I can tell already. But that’s the rule.”
I nod, getting turned on already by what he’s suggesting. “I’m a good rule follower.”
He chuckles. “As am I. I’ll guide you from there, if that’s okay? This is going to be so fucking hot, Goldie.”
He gives me one more scorching kiss on the lips and then releases me. “Okay, no more touching. Do you want to start now?”
I nod, and he gestures towards our bodies. “Okay, first step…is to get rid of all these clothes.” The look on his face indicates he’s a little nervous about how I’m going to react to that.
But I’m not. I answer without words, by beginning to unbutton my blouse. I’m standing only two feet away from him, and his eyes watch every movement of my hands.
After two buttons, the front collar of my shirt parts widely, and the satin cups of my lilac bra are visible.
His nostrils flare as he unabashedly takes in the newly exposed curves of my body.
I keep at it, loving that he’s so affected by me.
One, two more buttons undone.
He licks his lips as my stomach is now exposed.
The final button undone.
And then I let the blouse slide off my shoulders and fall to the floor.
His eyes molten, he takes a seat on one of the sofas. His erection is now prominent in his shorts, even more than at the preserve.
“You want more?” I tease him.
“Yes,” he growls out.
I reach the waistband of my denim shorts. His eyes are glued to my hands.
First, I undo the snap, and then I roll down the zipper.
A quick shimmy—poof, they’re gone too.
Leaving me only in my matching bra and thong.
“Fuck me,” he says, his eyes now pitch black as he looks his fill.
Shivers run through me. I love how it feels to be almost naked in front of him. Vulnerable, exposed, like he could do anything he wanted with me.
Only it’s Johnson, so I also know I’m safe.
“Don’t move,” he commands.
He starts stripping himself. First his shirt comes off, one hand reaching to the back and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion.
Seeing his naked chest for the first time in over two years is an experience.
His muscles are thicker, that’s for sure. But what really stands out is the dark hair that crosses his chest. It’s so thoroughly masculine and sexy, and all I want to do is run my hands down his chest, caress the crisp texture of the hair.
Against the rules for today, though. Soon.
“You look different,” I observe, unable to filter myself.
He chuckles lightly. “I used to shave my chest in college. I’m over that now.”
“I like it how it is now.”
His eyes light up. “Good.”
Then he stands up. “I need to catch up with you.”
Pulling his shorts down, he steps out of them as they reach the ground.
As he straightens back up, he’s left with only his navy boxers on, the heavy outline of his bulge in front of them.
He takes another minute to admire my body, while I’m appreciating his. Then our eyes meet directly, and something charges through me, through us, that I’ve never felt before, with anyone.
A live wire connection that is deliciously physical, but also is coated in pure trust. Desire meeting faith in the other person.
It pulls on my heart strings, hard.
He looks intense, like he’s getting hit by the same sensation. But then slowly his lips turn up and his eyes brighten.
“You’re going to wreck me, Goldie, and I’m going to love every minute of it.”
And now I’m awash in a new confidence, instilled by his words.
“Hmmm,” I say, my own smile forming. “I don’t know if I want to wreck you, but maybe I’ll torture you a little bit.”
It’s the most bold comment I’ve ever said to a guy, and I match the words with my next actions.
I reach back and undo the snap of my bra, which instantly becomes loose in my hands, falling away from my body.
Like most competitive runners whose body fat stays so low, my boobs are not voluptuous. I don’t mind my small B-cup size, though. They’re perky and cute to me.
Neither does Johnson, apparently.
“Yeah, wrecked and tortured both. I can’t believe I don’t get to touch you,” he says darkly as the tent in front of his boxers grows yet again, his eyes moving over my body with raw heat.
I don’t wait for any more of his chatter. I’m so turned on right now watching him take me in that I just want to start being able to touch myself.
Pulling down my thong, I pop back up, fully naked. I meet Johnson’s eyes as soon as I’m fully standing.
He takes a deep breath and rubs his hand over his cock, maybe without even knowing it.
“Look at you. Look at you. Glistening already.” I blush slightly at his observation, but his worshipful tone keeps the bulk of my nerves at bay.
He then points to one of the gray couches. “Why don’t you sit there? Or lie there, whatever you prefer.” He walks over to an armchair and pulls it three feet away from where he’s directing me. “I’ll stay here because otherwise I don’t trust myself to follow the rules.”
I head to the sofa and set up the pillows so I’m lying down but my upper body is a little elevated. “Like this?”
He whips off his boxers. “Holy shit, you look like a painting lying there.” He sits down on the armchair, but his eyes are locked on me. “What I wouldn’t do to feel how wet you are. Taste you.”
In the meantime, now that his boxers are off, I can’t help but study his cock. It’s thick, with a vein running through it that I want to touch—another night.
It’s the final straw to break my resistance. “I’m going to touch myself now, okay?” My voice comes out as a whisper.