Chapter 17
OFF THE LEASH
GREY
It takes every single solitary ounce of my will not to kiss Molly again.
By some miracle, we make it through a day of work, an evening of cooking, and dinner. Putting a table between us helps. The fact that she's honored the stop I put in place does too. Still, the words rain check have been on the tip of my tongue all day, just in case.
It hasn't stopped her from looking at me like she's never seen a meal. And I haven't shaken the memory of her pressed against my cock while I lost myself in the heat of her mouth. The way her body felt against mine. The way she trusted me, gave herself over to the feeling, to me.
I am in such deep shit. There aren't enough shovels.
But it's too late. I've committed. It might ruin me, but I won't let her down--. It's a risk I've agreed to take, hell or high water.
I know--I'm a regular small-town hero. Twist my fucking arm.
The tension between us coils as I follow her to the front door.
I've been dreading this moment and desperate for it since I plucked her off my lap and put her ass back in her chair where my cock couldn't get to her.
I don't know why I'm surprised or what the fuck I thought was going to happen when I agreed to it, not that I was thinking when I said I'd do it.
But the thought of another man touching her?
The other option being that some stupid motherfucker would put their hands on her--for her first everything.
Probably some shitass who couldn't find his way out of a paper bag, never mind find a clitoris.
Even a whisper of the thought of it sends another shocking flash of fury through me.
She deserves better than that. She deserves everything. And as torturous as it is and forever will be, I'm gonna be the man who gives this to her. Assuming I don't have a coronary in the process.
Molly stops at the door, looking at me like she doesn't want me to go. I don't want to go either. She's shy but smiling. I want to touch her lips with deep, disturbing desperation.
"Thanks for dinner," I say, hoping I sound cool.
"You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow night."
I chuckle, hesitating to move. "Just a reminder--, I can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays--"
"Because of the varsity games. You're off the hook, don't worry."
"I was never on the hook."
She laughs, rolls her eyes. "Riiiight. I've had you on the hook helping me since day one of ball practice."
"Molly?"
"Yeah?"
"Do I look like I'm complaining?"
The flush that rises in her cheeks is so fucking pretty. "Well, also per our agreement, I was wondering if, before you go, you could, um, put me in, coach."
Four stupid little words I've been dreading all day, only because I don't want to say no to her. But this? This I expected. This I hoped for. This one, I don't have to say no to.
So I smile. Step into her. Cup her sweet, pretty face in my hands and look down into it. "Batter up, peaches."
She sighs, her body softening into me as I bring my lips to hers. I intend only to taste her, just a sip.
We go up in a whoosh of heat like the strike of a match.
Her lips are too soft, her mouth too hot--the fire burns the air out of my lungs.
The tiny gasp she makes when my seeking tongue slides past her lips feels like a punch.
The plush give of her mouth, the slick of her tongue, the warmth of her breath.
She doesn't kiss like she knows what she's doing, but she wants it so badly, my restraint is pushed to the absolute limit.
I want her closer, even though I'm hunched to hold her in my arms, her hands scrabbling on my arms, my shoulders, gripping my shirt.
We're chest to chest, and I'm grateful for our height difference.
To hold her like this means my hips and hers won't meet, not unless I stand up and take her with me.
I should stand up.
I break the kiss for my sake, pepper her with lighter, smaller kisses for hers.
It's not you, peaches. It's me.
But she's practically purring, taking my lead on the brakes at least. It's the one place where I have any control, and it's thin at best.
Her arms are around my neck, and we're smiling at each other. I brush a curl from her cheek, wishing I could kiss her like this all night.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Molly," I promise, gently unhooking her arms from my neck so I can put some space between us.
She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, smirking. "Can we work on some homework, maybe? I'm shooting for straight As."
"I'll see if I can come up with an exercise or two," I joke, pleased when she laughs and opens the door. "Night, peaches."
"Night, coach."
As I'm trotting down the stairs, I note she hasn't closed the door, so I turn to smile at her once more over my shoulder.
The sight of her there in the doorframe of this shitty old house she loves so much, standing in a rectangle of golden light, does something to me that feels so good, it can only mean trouble.
She waves. I smirk. Get myself down the stairs. Get in my truck. Adjust my furious erection. As I'm backing out, she waves again, and this time I wave back before backing out of the driveway.
The high she has me on is terrifying. I want more so bad it threatens to take me over. And for a brief, perfect moment, I revel in the feeling.
And then, she's out of sight, and the rush leaves me with a whoosh, reality taking its place with a painful slam of reality.
What have I done?
What the fuck did I do?
Why is it so fucking hard to remember that she is twenty-four, and I cannot have her?
Lessons in sex. With Molly, the too-young-for-me, virgin librarian.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My pulse races
I nearly panic. In what world am I going to be able to maintain this? How in the ever-loving fuck am I going to make sure she doesn't get hurt? Separating sex and feelings are hard for seasoned pros. For Molly?
I groan, briefly dropping my forehead to my steering wheel at a stop sign. "Fuck. Fucking fuck."
I did this to myself. I tortured myself into this mess, and she's going to be the one who pays for my mistake. What a fucking asshole. I'm the one who's supposed to know better. And I know what I have to do.
I have to--
I can't even finish the thought before a hot rush of no tears through me. And I know.
There's no undoing it. There's no going back, no pretending I don't know what it feels like to hold her. To kiss her. To have the light of her hungry adoration shined on me. All I can do is mitigate. That, and uphold my promise to her. No big deal.
I am so fucked.
My cock is painfully hard, the zipper of my jeans digging into the flesh. I can't help it. Everything smells like her. She's all over me. And while getting rid of her is the last thing I want to do, I have to wash her soap off of me or I'm going to lose my fucking mind.
Once in my driveway, I storm out of my car, blowing into my house like a hot wind, slamming the door behind me so hard, the panes rattle.
Piece by piece, I undress on my way to the shower, leaving a trail of boots and socks and jeans and the rest. I leave it ice cold, the colder the better.
I want it so cold it hurts, punishes me for the mother of all mistakes.
Palm to the tile, I hang my head, the icy water like shards of glass clipping down my back.
Her soap, her shampoo, amplified under the water.
I snatch the bar of soap off its shelf and scrub until the lather is thick and foamy and rolling down my body in rivers.
The second my hand brushes my hot, aching cock, my body jolts like I was shocked.
A moan slips out of me as I pump into my fist.
This, at least, is a problem I can solve.
The grip on my leash slips as the grip on my cock tightens.
Every moment I've spent with her blasts through my brain.
I let myself indulge in each detail, every little whimper and gasp, slide into the heat of it.
Imagine her flushed and naked and stretched out in my bed.
Imagine making her come with my hands, my tongue, my cock.
I can hear the sound of my name on her lips.
And I let go of the leash, uncertain I'll ever get it back on.
My hips jerk, palm braced on the tile. I mutter curses into the freezing shower spray. But beneath my desire is something worse.
Hope.
I can have her. She could be mine.
But it might ruin me. Because when I've done what I promised, I have to walk away. And I don't know if I'll ever be the same.
I don't fucking care.
The orgasm tears out of me, sharp and furious, wringing my body like it's been coiled for years. And I hear her name groaned from my lips, even though I swore I wouldn't.
It's violent, overwhelming, but the worst part is that when it's through and my body is spent, there's no relief. I still ache. I still want. I still imagine her in my bed, not in my head.
That leash wasn't just to protect her.
It was to protect me.
And I just proved to myself how fragile my hold is.