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It’s 2:15am when he asks, “so how do you feel about this?”
I tilt my head to look over at him as we walk toward his car. The gentle quiet of the residential street is broken only by the rhythm of our footsteps. “About what?” I ask.
He flips his hand back and forth between the two of us. “This.”
Oh. I think back to earlier this evening. He’d spilled wine on his hand as we sat with our coworkers for a glass after service. I’d smiled and offered him a napkin but he’d moved closer, reaching out to wipe it on my leg, then hesitated.
“You’d better not,” I’d playfully warned.
“I almost did,” he’d pulled away, leaning back into his chair.
“I saw. There’s a line, and that might have crossed it.”
His serious eyes had caught mine for a quiet moment. A solemn nod.
What am I supposed to say? I don’t want to date a coworker, but we certainly are toeing the line. Over the last eight months, we’ve been fostering an emotionally intimate relationship without crossing any physical boundaries. Enjoying each other’s inappropriate jokes. Bonding over an infinite number of “that’s what she said”‘. Being vulnerable together, sharing our stories with each other.
But we work together – an obvious problem. It’s cliche to say it, but having done so several times in my twenty-four years, dating a coworker is simply not a good idea.
And yet… watching his tall, lean frame glide beneath his grey suit during a shift often elicits a very physical reaction from me. My eyes travel up his body and I’ll catch my hand lifting to touch him. What if I reached out and touched him right now? What harm would feeling his firm body beneath his clothes do?
I shrug. “We’re cool, no one has crossed any boundaries.”
He gives me a sideways smirk as we step across the empty intersection. “What if I told you that I wanted to?”
I give him my full attention. His eyes avoid mine, looking forward stubbornly. I touch his arm to stop his movement.
He turns and as his steady blue eyes focus on me I sense his confidence in our mutual attraction. A small frown sets into my features. Sure, I desire him. But I’m also in control of my hormones enough to see the wisdom in resisting that desire, in directing those energies elsewhere.
I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind as I exhale. It’s late. I should probably just head home.
I break our stare and look onward toward the first line of cars. When I start to turn away he steps toward me and with a gentle hand on my shoulder, he turns me back to face him.
Surprise raises my eyebrows and I catch his eyes twinkling in the streetlight. A seriousness to his features anchor me in place. The hungry look he gives me sends a pleasurable shiver up my spine.
I feel the goosebumps prickle across cihangir escort my skin. My brain reminds me that it’s late and that standing here with him is a bad idea – each moment together in this quiet intersection adds a drop of boiling desire to the growing pool within me. The hand lingering at my shoulder is molten – an unnatural warmth burns where he touches me, sending tendrils of heat across my chest. His eyes flick to our point of contact and then back to my face, searching for the answer to his question.
He wants to cross the line. My silence has wiped some of his confidence away and he hesitates, seeming unsure what to do next. The solid, still weight of his hand is asking a question, “may I?”
I inhale and a subtle hint of toasted oak and wine tickle my senses. I take a deeper breath, closing my eyes to catch the nuanced scents of his body – the soft sweat of a long work day, the warm leather of his jacket, and that woody cling that speaks of the wine cellar at work. His hand at my shoulder shifts to grasp my arm, gently pulling me toward him.
A sudden surge of desire weakens my knees enough that I sway, and quickly both of his hands are gripping my arms to steady me. His momentary concern initiates a cascade of emotions playing across his face and I seem to hear his thoughts as they play across his features.
The question lingers in the air between us. The tilt of his head waits for my answer. The hands on my arms come alive ever so slightly and his thumbs stroke the thin material of my shirt.
I hold my breath, a quiet observer as the hormones chase heat and electricity through my veins. My stomach flutters and I feel something low inside me tighten. Of their own volition, my eyes travel to his mouth.
Those soft, inviting lips are slightly parted and I catch his quick intake of breath. Does he know how long I’ve wanted to feel that mouth pressed against mine? Too many long, intimate conversations shared at a careful distance have threatened the guilt-free civility that has long existed between us. As each new breath enters my lungs, the idea of resisting the inevitable outcome becomes more difficult to hold on to. The thought of breaking his hold on me, of ruining this moment is too foreign to comprehend.
“So. How do you feel about this?” his quiet voice draws me back to the question of the night. I can feel his light grip continue to pull me ever so slightly, inviting me closer. Desire is a solid presence in my chest, aching for me to give in.
He senses my hesitation, but his hands are pulling me closer and he’s stepping forward. “How do you feel…” His eyes are enveloping me as they flood my vision.
“About…” His warm breath reaches my skin and the lingering scent of esenyurt escort the wine we’d shared invites me to relax into him.
“This…” His mouth aligns with mine and he pauses, a hair’s breadth before his lips would fall upon mine. A low sound escapes me, frustrated that he’s given me another chance to consider these actions. Is this a wise choice? Likely not. Am I mesmerized by the slow rhythm of his thumbs kneading my upper arm? Am I frozen by the warm breath caressing my mouth as my heart pounds steadily in ears? Yes.
“Yes,” I whisper, and the quiet of the night crescendos around us.
His slow, hesitant kiss is a soft brush of lips alighting briefly against mine. His mouth continues past, grazing my cheek as the warmth of his breath and the tickle of his mouth burn a gentle line of fire toward my neck. A flutter in my stomach makes me dizzy with anticipation. His cheek caresses mine, the soft whiskers of the day exciting my skin.
A hand slides up my arm and cradles one side of my neck, while at the other side, his mouth continues to glide down toward the nape. “Oh,” an involuntary sound escapes me. Tantalizing warmth glides under my collar against my skin and I shudder with pleasure. My hands need something to steady myself against and I find his torso beneath his open jacket. Uncertain fingers graze his middle, spreading to trace the lines of his abdomen around his hips. His moist lips tease the curve of my neck as my hands curl under the bottom of his shirt. They find skin and I press my palms against his back, bringing him closer to me. He holds himself still, a solid statue against the pressure of my hands.
The torment of his teasing mouth against my neck and the denial of his body pressed against mine release a groan of frustration – my fingers flex and nails press into his skin. His quick intake of breath leaves me only moment enough to realize I’ve scratched him before his mouth becomes a firm pressure at my neck and, like a switch being thrown, I feel all my muscles relax at once. I stay vertical only due to his hands on me as I struggle to use my palms on his hips as anchors. Reeling from the sudden rush of sensation, I melt into his grasp. The pressure on my neck relents and I feel my strength return. Wow.
We stand frozen, my quick breaths welcoming in the sweet warmth of his scent. His hands still hold me while he leans over my neck waiting for my response. I’d scratched him. He’d bitten me – if you could call that sensual bit of pressure a bite. Did I want more? God yes.
As a car’s headlights wash over us it becomes apparent that we are still standing in the middle of the intersection. Headlamps break the spell and we release one another and move to the adjacent sidewalk.
“Wow,” etiler escort bayan he gives me that sidelong look. I try to suppress a grin but the giddy arousal wins out. I bite my lip to hide my smile. “Mm,” he hums, watching my mouth. I feel a hot flush leap toward my cheeks and I turn toward his car. I take a dizzying step forward. The next step is easier and after a pause he begins to follow.
“You said you’d give me a lift home?” I ask, not sure what to say.
“I did say that,” comes his quiet reply.
Another wave of desire flashes through me.
Only the sounds of our footsteps accompany us up the hill to his car. Amber lights flash as he hits his key fob. I step around to the passenger side and tug the handle. “I think my side’s locked?” I tug again for good measure.
“Oh, it sticks. You have to… I’ll get it,” he says quickly stepping around the front of the car.
As he steps in my proximity again the crisp spring air suddenly thickens and time seems to slow. The only sound heard over his quiet movements is my heart drumming in my ears. A whisper of reasons to step back from him are lost to the night. A part of me still argues for rationality, but having had the smallest taste of him, that part is overridden by my desire for more. Warmth ripples through my body as I flash back to his mouth against my neck. Who knew that area was such a hot button for me? I realize he’s speaking.
“Hmm?” I answer, shaking my head clear.
His silent stare lasts a full breath. “Grab the handle,” he repeats.
I raise an eyebrow at his tone, but I dutifully turn around and give it a tug. When I look back at him expectantly, he has stepped right up behind me. “Put your free hand on top of the car for leverage.”
I react to his nearness with a tightening low in my body. As I raise my hand to the top of his car, his right hand envelops mine on the handle and I feel his open jacket flutter against my back. I find myself leaning in closer to the car and his body follows mine, slowly pressing into me. An ache fills my chest and settles between my legs. Desire thunders through me as his left hand alights on my shoulder. Tender touches trace down my arm until his palm pins mine to the top of the car.
“You have to lift,” he begins, tensing behind me and bringing the lines of our bodies together.
“God,” I breathe, weakening again and catching myself between him and his car. His hips slowly press into me as he lifts up on the handle. I suddenly want nothing more than to be lying underneath him, feeling his warmth above me as his strong hands grasp my body.
“Like this,” he murmurs at my ear, giving the handle a quick wrench. The door cracks open and he starts to relax behind me, moving away.
No. I quickly press back into the door with my body, shutting it firmly once more. The sudden tension in his arms lets me know I’ve surprised him. My heart hammers in my chest and I briefly worry about the words forming on my tongue.
“I want you,” I begin, glancing back, “to show me exactly what I should do.”
He relaxes and a low hum vibrates through us. “My pleasure.”
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