Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(13)

“You did smile, Bridgette,” I whisper. “And you need to own it, because it was fucking beautiful.”

She gasps in shock right before my lips crash against hers. I don’t think she was expecting this kiss to happen, but she certainly isn’t objecting. Her mouth is warm and responsive and when I part her lips with my tongue, she actually lets me.

I don’t know if it’s the whiskey or her, but my heart is thrashing around in my chest like a caged beast. I slide my hands down her back until they meet her ass and I squeeze as I pick her up and set her back down on the bar.

Our lips separate, and we stare at each other silently, each of us hesitant to believe that the other isn’t about to walk away again. When I realize that neither of us seems to want to stop this, I bring my hands up to her cheeks and lean in again, taking her lips between mine.

This is different from our kiss the other night. Our first kiss was quick and frantic, because we knew that’s where it would end.

This one is slow and deep, and feels like it’s just the beginning of what we’re about to experience tonight. This time when I leave her mouth to taste her neck, she doesn’t push me away. She pulls me closer, wanting me to kiss her harder.

“Warren,” she whispers, tilting her neck to the side, allowing me free rein of her skin. “If I have sex with you, you have to promise you won’t get clingy afterward.”

I laugh, but I don’t move away from her neck. “If you have sex with me, Bridgette, you’re the one in danger of becoming clingy. You’ll want so much more of me, I won’t be able to tell the difference between you and Saran Wrap.”

She laughs, and I pull away from her. I look down at her mouth and then into her eyes. “My God.”

She shakes her head, confused. “What?”

“Your laugh.” I kiss her on the lips. “Fucking phenomenal,” I whisper into her mouth. I lift her off the counter and keep her wrapped around me as I make my way across the living room. As soon as we’re in my bedroom, I close the door and push her against it. I keep her pressed against the door with my body while I remove my shirt. I find the hem of her shirt and begin to pull it over her head. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about this, Bridgette.”

She helps me pull her shirt over her head. “I haven’t fantasized about it at all,” she says.

I smile. “Bullshit.”

I lift her again and carry her to the bed. As soon as I lay her on it and begin to crawl on top of her, she pushes my shoulders and shoves me onto my back. Her hands meet the button on my jeans and she undoes them. I attempt to take control again by pushing her onto her back, but she’s not having it. She straddles me and places her hands on my biceps, pushing my arms against the bed. “I make the calls,” she says.

I don’t argue. If she wants to be in charge, I’ll absolutely let her.

She sits up straight and brings her hands around to her back to undo her bra. I lift up and begin to reach around to assist her, but her hands are back on my arms in a flash. She pushes me to the mattress again. “What did I just say, Warren?”

Holy shit. She’s not kidding.

I nod and focus my attention back to her bra as she lifts up and unfastens it. She slides the straps slowly down her arms and I can’t keep my eyes off her. I want to touch her, to help her, to be the one to remove her bra, but she’s not allowing me to do anything.

My breath catches in my chest when she flings the bra away.

My God, she’s perfect. Her breasts are the perfect size, appearing as if they would fit right in the palms of my hands. But I wouldn’t know, because I’m not allowed to touch them.

Am I?

I hesitantly lift my hands to feel the softness of her skin, but she immediately shoves my arms away from her, back to the bed.

God, it’s torture. Her breasts are right here, inches from me, and I can’t even touch them.

“Where are your condoms?”

I point to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. She slides off of me and I watch her closely as she walks to my nightstand. She opens the drawer and sifts around until she finds one. She puts it between her teeth as she walks back toward the foot of the bed. She doesn’t climb back on top of me. Instead, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and begins to shimmy out of them.

I’m harder than I’ve ever been, and I can feel my pulse throbbing throughout my whole body. She needs to hurry the hell up and climb back on top of me.

She leaves her panties on as she bends over and begins to pull my jeans the rest of the way off. She hooks her hands in my underwear and pulls them down as well, the condom wrapper still dangling between her teeth. Her hair is the perfect length, trailing lightly over my skin like feathers every time she leans over me.

Once all my clothes are off, her eyes focus on the hardest part of me. A smile tugs at her lips and her eyes meet mine. She pulls the condom out of her mouth.

“Impressive,” she says. “This definitely explains your inflated ego.”

I take the insult with the compliment, because I already know Bridgette isn’t the type to dish them out.

She straddles me again, still wearing her panties. She leans forward and presses her palms into my forearms. Her mouth meets mine, and her breasts press against my chest, causing me to groan. She feels incredible. So good. I’m worried now, because we haven’t even had sex yet and I can already tell I’m ruined.