Chapter 6 A Little to the Right
Lydea
I’m drawn to this man in a way I can’t understand. He’s been nice to me. Is that all it takes?
Pathetic.
Oh the hell well.
His neck feels good in my hand. My mind conjures up the image of my hand at his neck, but in a much different scenario than this one. He’s a barber and good with his hands. Is he just as good with his mouth?
I draw in a deep breath and slowly let it out. I just met him today. And I’m definitely feeling vulnerable after that date. I gotta let this lust pass.
“So, after you drop me off, are you going to take more rides or go home?”
He turns his hand and bores a hole in me with his eyes. “I’m done for the night.”
I laugh. The sun barely set.
“I’ve been that bad?”
His hand, which was resting on the console between us, now rests on my thigh. I suck in a breath, not expecting the jolt of warmth that spread through me at his touch.
I am not ok.
He, on the other hand, looks calm and cool, except for the way his hands squeak on the steering wheel, while he focuses on the road with his hand on my thigh like we’ve been doing this for years.
It’s been a little too long since I’ve been touched, and “a little to the right,” is on the tip of my tongue.
I close my eyes and let out a breath.
My body buzzes. I’m about to start shifting in my seat like that girl in The Five Heartbeats when Eddie hits that note. But I’m a lady. I keep my hand on his neck though, trying not to grip it too much and distract him from driving.
“Damn! I missed a turn.”
The map reroutes him, and he eases on the breaks to turn around.
“Nah, just keep driving. Take me somewhere else.”
Our eyes lock and I raise my eyebrows. “You know a place?”
He nods and closes out the map. “I know a place.”
Neither of us moves an inch during the drive. After a few turns, I know where he’s taking me, and it’s exactly where I wanted to go. We ride in a charged silence. I’m anxious for this car to stop. I need to touch him and to know how his lips feel.
I turn and look out the window. What I really need to do is control myself.
Champ watches the road. I watch him and the way his jaw ticks ever so often. I trace his jawline with my fingers. His eyes dart in my direction, then back to the road. He takes a deep breath that makes me grin.
He’s exactly where I am. Finally on the same page with someone.
Neither of us makes a move when he puts the car in park. We’re at the lookout, overlooking the city, and it’s breathtaking. But I’m already struggling to breathe just sitting in this car with Champ.
Too much silence brews between us. I pull him towards me by the back of his neck. He chuckles and moves the rest of the way to my mouth on his own.
I close my eyes and wait for heaven.
His lips brush mine, soft, careful.
I let out a quiet moan. It’s not enough.
I pull him closer, pressing into him, and this time he gives in. His lips part against mine, and when I follow, he meets me there.
My fingers tighten at his neck.
His hand tightens on my thigh.
My mind is quiet, for once. All I’m doing is feeling. And this man feels good. Not just him, but the way he kisses me. It’s not rushed and all over the place. He’s kissing me like he wants me to enjoy it.
I’m enjoying it.
Champ moans into my mouth, and I clench my thighs, trapping his fingers between them. Mmm, he could unravel me right here and now if he just moved them a little bit. I would fall apart.
I feel myself slipping, inch by inch. Like if I let go for even a second, I won’t be able to pull myself back together.
I want him closer. Everywhere.
Champ’s fingers twitch at my thighs, and I open my legs, pulsating with the need for him. He rubs my inner thigh slowly, and I pull away from the kiss, panting and wide-eyed.
He stops moving, and I stare at him.
He laughs, but follows my silent order.
His hand slides down my thigh, then slowly back up, stopping right before I want him to.
I groan, and he kisses me again, hard and deep. When his fingertips brush against the edge of my panties, I thrust my hips forward, but he doesn’t give in.
He breaks our kiss and moves to my neck, placing kisses along my throat.
“I want you.”
He smiles at me. “I know.”
What?
“I want you too, but not like this. Not here.” There’s a reverence in his eyes that makes me want him more.
I sit up in the passenger seat. “Then take me home.”
He gives me a peck on the lips and runs a finger down my center.
“Bet.”
He pulls his hand away completely. I want to protest, but he needs both hands to drive. And I need him to drive me home so I can have him.
Once we’re back on the road, just a few miles from my place, his hand finds its way to my thigh again. I’m wide open for him, but he just rests it there, light and easy, like before.
This man is playing games.
The kind I like.