Do Not Disturb
Page 34
He will go along with it all until the moment he can’t take it. She says she loves him. If he can continue on, cement her love until it reaches a place of unshakable bond, then he will bring up his issues. Will work with her toward a solution. But not now, not when her love for him is so young and vulnerable.
An hour and a half later, with a bag of subs in hand, he knocks on her door. It’s unlocked. It’s always unlocked during the day. Another thing he hates. Another thing he doesn’t understand. It’d be a bad enough practice in a good area, much less this dump where police cars are often curbside, hookers lounge against telephone poles, and the homeless sleep on the benches out front.
She opens the door, the door he could have just pushed in, and turns, sauntering away while pointing toward the kitchen. “Put the food down.”
He groans, shutting the door and locking it, his eyes on her ass, the curve of it accentuated by the sheer lingerie that hugs it. “Babe. You’re driving me crazy.”
She turns, rolls her desk chair till it is against the back wall, and points to it. “Put the food down and sit.”
He cocks his head, confused. Takes two steps over and sets the subs down. “Am I in trouble?”
Her mouth curves into a smile. “Yes. Sit.”
She is saying yes, but she looks anything but mad. Mischievous would be a better descriptor. He walks slowly to the chair. Sits down. Watches her face as she steps closer, her stripper shoes putting her at an insane height, his mouth in line with her belly button. He reaches out, wanting to touch her, but she shakes her head, clucks her tongue disapprovingly and steps back, out of his reach.
“Hands on the arms. Don’t touch me.”
“I’d love to know what I’ve done wrong.”
His dry tone makes her smile, the twinkle in her eyes tugging on every string in his heart.
“You,” she whispers, standing before him, raising her arms and reaching back, behind her head, undoing some tie that causes the lace to slink off her front, her bare breasts suddenly on display for him. He feels his cock respond, thickening and hardening, pushing against his jeans, insistent in its rush. She reaches back again, pulls at the fabric and the entire ensemble suddenly drops, leaving only her skin, still in heels, her confidence so fucking sexy his cock hurts. “You,” she repeats, stepping forward and leaning over him, her breasts brushing against his shirt, her teeth taking a soft nip of his jaw before her mouth moves to his ear. “Didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”
She kneels, a pillow under her knees, running her hands confidently down his shirt and thumbing the buckle of his belt. He inhales when her hands dip under his jeans, her fingers wrapping over the denim while working the button, and she smiles.
You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.
“I would have, had I known it would lead to this.” He doesn’t have a condom. The oversight is glaring, in big huge letters that a blind man would have trouble missing. He hasn’t needed one, the unspoken boundaries in their relationship clear. They touch, they kiss… but they haven’t gone there, haven’t gone there enough times that he’s stopped carrying one. Yet another question he doesn’t ask and another answer she doesn’t volunteer. Maybe he won’t need one. Maybe, with his back to the wall and her settled in on her knees, this will be a blow job, no condom necessary. He almost hopes she doesn’t ask. He won’t be able to say no if she pulls him to his feet and leads him to the bed. A man’s willpower is only so strong, and turning her down is Numero Uno on the list of things he is unable to do.
Then her fingers pull his cock out, an organ that has only strengthened in the few minutes that have passed since she disrobed, a cock that swells even more in her hands, her eager look surprising as she examines it. Squeezes it gently, runs her fist up and down its length, her other hand lightly traveling over it, trailing the veins just under the skin, cupping his balls lightly. He stares at her face, wondering at the delight there. As if this is something she has waited for. Imagined. Almost like she is pinching herself to see if this is real. This girl, this girl who has so much fear of herself in her heart… he will never understand her many sides. And here is a new one, the explorative innocent, eager and ready to please.
Then she lowers her mouth, taking her enthusiasm to a different level, and he gasps, his pelvis spasming, his hand falling and entangling in her hair. Maybe not innocent. This mouth, working his cock in ways he has never felt, is anything but innocent.
In this moment, his most vulnerable organ in her mouth, the impossible happens, and he falls even deeper in love.
An hour and a half later, with a bag of subs in hand, he knocks on her door. It’s unlocked. It’s always unlocked during the day. Another thing he hates. Another thing he doesn’t understand. It’d be a bad enough practice in a good area, much less this dump where police cars are often curbside, hookers lounge against telephone poles, and the homeless sleep on the benches out front.
She opens the door, the door he could have just pushed in, and turns, sauntering away while pointing toward the kitchen. “Put the food down.”
He groans, shutting the door and locking it, his eyes on her ass, the curve of it accentuated by the sheer lingerie that hugs it. “Babe. You’re driving me crazy.”
She turns, rolls her desk chair till it is against the back wall, and points to it. “Put the food down and sit.”
He cocks his head, confused. Takes two steps over and sets the subs down. “Am I in trouble?”
Her mouth curves into a smile. “Yes. Sit.”
She is saying yes, but she looks anything but mad. Mischievous would be a better descriptor. He walks slowly to the chair. Sits down. Watches her face as she steps closer, her stripper shoes putting her at an insane height, his mouth in line with her belly button. He reaches out, wanting to touch her, but she shakes her head, clucks her tongue disapprovingly and steps back, out of his reach.
“Hands on the arms. Don’t touch me.”
“I’d love to know what I’ve done wrong.”
His dry tone makes her smile, the twinkle in her eyes tugging on every string in his heart.
“You,” she whispers, standing before him, raising her arms and reaching back, behind her head, undoing some tie that causes the lace to slink off her front, her bare breasts suddenly on display for him. He feels his cock respond, thickening and hardening, pushing against his jeans, insistent in its rush. She reaches back again, pulls at the fabric and the entire ensemble suddenly drops, leaving only her skin, still in heels, her confidence so fucking sexy his cock hurts. “You,” she repeats, stepping forward and leaning over him, her breasts brushing against his shirt, her teeth taking a soft nip of his jaw before her mouth moves to his ear. “Didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”
She kneels, a pillow under her knees, running her hands confidently down his shirt and thumbing the buckle of his belt. He inhales when her hands dip under his jeans, her fingers wrapping over the denim while working the button, and she smiles.
You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.
“I would have, had I known it would lead to this.” He doesn’t have a condom. The oversight is glaring, in big huge letters that a blind man would have trouble missing. He hasn’t needed one, the unspoken boundaries in their relationship clear. They touch, they kiss… but they haven’t gone there, haven’t gone there enough times that he’s stopped carrying one. Yet another question he doesn’t ask and another answer she doesn’t volunteer. Maybe he won’t need one. Maybe, with his back to the wall and her settled in on her knees, this will be a blow job, no condom necessary. He almost hopes she doesn’t ask. He won’t be able to say no if she pulls him to his feet and leads him to the bed. A man’s willpower is only so strong, and turning her down is Numero Uno on the list of things he is unable to do.
Then her fingers pull his cock out, an organ that has only strengthened in the few minutes that have passed since she disrobed, a cock that swells even more in her hands, her eager look surprising as she examines it. Squeezes it gently, runs her fist up and down its length, her other hand lightly traveling over it, trailing the veins just under the skin, cupping his balls lightly. He stares at her face, wondering at the delight there. As if this is something she has waited for. Imagined. Almost like she is pinching herself to see if this is real. This girl, this girl who has so much fear of herself in her heart… he will never understand her many sides. And here is a new one, the explorative innocent, eager and ready to please.
Then she lowers her mouth, taking her enthusiasm to a different level, and he gasps, his pelvis spasming, his hand falling and entangling in her hair. Maybe not innocent. This mouth, working his cock in ways he has never felt, is anything but innocent.
In this moment, his most vulnerable organ in her mouth, the impossible happens, and he falls even deeper in love.
