The Mistake
Page 31
I really ought to message back. I haven’t spoken to her since Thursday. Granted, that isn’t an obscene amount of time considering it’s Saturday and she had dinner plans with her father yesterday. So technically, I’ve only been avoiding her for a day and a half.
She doesn’t know I’m avoiding her, though. If she did, she wouldn’t have invited me over.
The way I see it, I have three options.
Option 1: Ignore the invitation.
And if she texts again, ignore that too. And then keep ignoring her until she gets the message that I’m not interested. Which is a whopping lie, because I am interested. I have fun with her, and if I weren’t so fucked in the head about this Hannah thing, I’d absolutely keep seeing Grace.
Christ, I shouldn’t have allowed Thursday’s impromptu date to happen. It’s not fair to lead her on like this.
Which brings me to option 2: Message back, decline the invitation, and tell her I can’t see her again because of (insert bullshit excuse here).
Except…well, I’ve been brushed off via text before and it fucking sucks.
So that leaves option 3: Go over there and talk to her in person. That’s the mature course of action, the one I should definitely take. But the thought of glimpsing even a shred of hurt or disappointment in her eyes makes me sick to my stomach.
Man up already.
Fuck. I guess it’s time to pull up my big boy pants. Be a man, rub some dirt in it and all that shit. After our night at the water tower, Grace deserves a helluva lot more than a text brush-off.
Stifling a sigh, I drop the towel I’ve been wearing for the last…forty-two minutes now. I grab a pair of clean boxers and jeans, zip up, and throw on a black sweater my mom got me for Christmas. It’s tighter than the shirts I normally wear, but it’s the first thing I find in my dresser and I’m in too much of a hurry to change.
I swipe my phone off the bed and text Grace.
Me: When?
Her: Now, if you want.
She punctuates that with a smiley face. Shit.
Me: omw.
Ten minutes later, I kill the engine in the parking lot behind the dorms and head for Fairview House. When I reach her door, I’m overcome with hesitation. And a major case of nerves. I take a deep breath. Fuck, it’s not like I’m breaking up with her. We’re not even a couple. I’m simply letting her know that I’m not in a good place to continue things at the moment. Doesn’t mean it’s forever over. It’s just…right now over.
Right now over?
Brilliant, man. You’re going to awe her with your lyrical prose.
I knock, armed with my very unimpressive parting speech, but when the door swings open, I don’t get a chance to open my mouth. Actually, scratch that—I don’t get a chance to voice any words. My mouth is open, because Grace yanks me into her dark bedroom and kisses me, and if my mouth was closed, then how is her tongue supposed to get inside it?
The kiss is completely unexpected and hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. She wraps her arms around my neck and backs me into the still-open door. It closes when my shoulders bump into it, and suddenly I’m pinned between the door and Grace’s soft, warm body.
Her lips tease mine until I can’t see straight, and then she eases back breathlessly. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”
She leans in again.
Oh fuck. Don’t let her kiss you again. Don’t—
My tongue tangles with hers in another hot duel. Damn it. I plant my hands on her hips, intending to gently push her away, but I no longer have control over my own fingers. They slide lower and dig into her firm ass, pulling her closer instead of away.
With her mouth still locked with mine, she grabs the bottom of my sweater and tugs it up. Somehow I find the willpower to break the kiss.
“What are you doing?” I croak.
“Taking your clothes off.”
Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The only reason I allow her to remove my sweater is because the material is now caught around my chin and neck, and I need my mouth in order to speak to her. In order to stop this. But then she tosses the fabric aside and touches my bare chest, and my brain short-circuits. She delicately strokes her fingertips over my abdomen, and makes a breathy sound. Half-moan, half-whimper, and so sexy it sends a sizzle of lust right to my cock. My balls tighten, drawing up painfully when her fingers find my belt buckle.
“Grace, I…” Instead of finishing that sentence, I groan loudly, because holy fucking shit, she doesn’t just slide my pants off.
She slides to her knees as she does it.
I’m pretty sure I’ve just secured myself a place in hell for this. I came over tonight to end it, and instead I’m thrusting my dick into her warm, wet mouth.
Goddamn whoever invented blowjobs. They feel too damn good, and they do terrible things to your mind—AKA drain it of all lucid thought. I can’t focus on anything other than the tight suction around the head of my cock. The exploratory path of Grace’s tongue as she licks her way up and down my shaft before sucking on the tip again.
One hand instinctively tangles in her hair, trembling as I cup the back of her head to bring her closer. She moans, and the sound vibrates through me, a seductive promise that sends me teetering closer to the edge.
Christ. I have no idea how long she kneels there working me over, but suddenly I’m consumed with the need to touch her. To run my hands all over her body and drive her as crazy as she’s driving me right now.
With a strangled noise, I pull out of her mouth and haul her to her feet. Then I’m kissing her again, frantically clawing at her clothes until she’s naked. Oh, sweet Jesus, she’s naked. How the hell, in the span of five minutes, did I let this get so out of control?
She doesn’t know I’m avoiding her, though. If she did, she wouldn’t have invited me over.
The way I see it, I have three options.
Option 1: Ignore the invitation.
And if she texts again, ignore that too. And then keep ignoring her until she gets the message that I’m not interested. Which is a whopping lie, because I am interested. I have fun with her, and if I weren’t so fucked in the head about this Hannah thing, I’d absolutely keep seeing Grace.
Christ, I shouldn’t have allowed Thursday’s impromptu date to happen. It’s not fair to lead her on like this.
Which brings me to option 2: Message back, decline the invitation, and tell her I can’t see her again because of (insert bullshit excuse here).
Except…well, I’ve been brushed off via text before and it fucking sucks.
So that leaves option 3: Go over there and talk to her in person. That’s the mature course of action, the one I should definitely take. But the thought of glimpsing even a shred of hurt or disappointment in her eyes makes me sick to my stomach.
Man up already.
Fuck. I guess it’s time to pull up my big boy pants. Be a man, rub some dirt in it and all that shit. After our night at the water tower, Grace deserves a helluva lot more than a text brush-off.
Stifling a sigh, I drop the towel I’ve been wearing for the last…forty-two minutes now. I grab a pair of clean boxers and jeans, zip up, and throw on a black sweater my mom got me for Christmas. It’s tighter than the shirts I normally wear, but it’s the first thing I find in my dresser and I’m in too much of a hurry to change.
I swipe my phone off the bed and text Grace.
Me: When?
Her: Now, if you want.
She punctuates that with a smiley face. Shit.
Me: omw.
Ten minutes later, I kill the engine in the parking lot behind the dorms and head for Fairview House. When I reach her door, I’m overcome with hesitation. And a major case of nerves. I take a deep breath. Fuck, it’s not like I’m breaking up with her. We’re not even a couple. I’m simply letting her know that I’m not in a good place to continue things at the moment. Doesn’t mean it’s forever over. It’s just…right now over.
Right now over?
Brilliant, man. You’re going to awe her with your lyrical prose.
I knock, armed with my very unimpressive parting speech, but when the door swings open, I don’t get a chance to open my mouth. Actually, scratch that—I don’t get a chance to voice any words. My mouth is open, because Grace yanks me into her dark bedroom and kisses me, and if my mouth was closed, then how is her tongue supposed to get inside it?
The kiss is completely unexpected and hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. She wraps her arms around my neck and backs me into the still-open door. It closes when my shoulders bump into it, and suddenly I’m pinned between the door and Grace’s soft, warm body.
Her lips tease mine until I can’t see straight, and then she eases back breathlessly. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”
She leans in again.
Oh fuck. Don’t let her kiss you again. Don’t—
My tongue tangles with hers in another hot duel. Damn it. I plant my hands on her hips, intending to gently push her away, but I no longer have control over my own fingers. They slide lower and dig into her firm ass, pulling her closer instead of away.
With her mouth still locked with mine, she grabs the bottom of my sweater and tugs it up. Somehow I find the willpower to break the kiss.
“What are you doing?” I croak.
“Taking your clothes off.”
Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The only reason I allow her to remove my sweater is because the material is now caught around my chin and neck, and I need my mouth in order to speak to her. In order to stop this. But then she tosses the fabric aside and touches my bare chest, and my brain short-circuits. She delicately strokes her fingertips over my abdomen, and makes a breathy sound. Half-moan, half-whimper, and so sexy it sends a sizzle of lust right to my cock. My balls tighten, drawing up painfully when her fingers find my belt buckle.
“Grace, I…” Instead of finishing that sentence, I groan loudly, because holy fucking shit, she doesn’t just slide my pants off.
She slides to her knees as she does it.
I’m pretty sure I’ve just secured myself a place in hell for this. I came over tonight to end it, and instead I’m thrusting my dick into her warm, wet mouth.
Goddamn whoever invented blowjobs. They feel too damn good, and they do terrible things to your mind—AKA drain it of all lucid thought. I can’t focus on anything other than the tight suction around the head of my cock. The exploratory path of Grace’s tongue as she licks her way up and down my shaft before sucking on the tip again.
One hand instinctively tangles in her hair, trembling as I cup the back of her head to bring her closer. She moans, and the sound vibrates through me, a seductive promise that sends me teetering closer to the edge.
Christ. I have no idea how long she kneels there working me over, but suddenly I’m consumed with the need to touch her. To run my hands all over her body and drive her as crazy as she’s driving me right now.
With a strangled noise, I pull out of her mouth and haul her to her feet. Then I’m kissing her again, frantically clawing at her clothes until she’s naked. Oh, sweet Jesus, she’s naked. How the hell, in the span of five minutes, did I let this get so out of control?
