Rm W/a Vu (28 page)

“My last relationship ended about a year ago,” he continues. “We’d been together almost twice as long. Over the course of the first year, she started to show signs of being overly clingy. She took to picking fights with me every time I had to go out of town, and she told me I had to make a choice: my job or her. I loved my job, so the choice was easy.” I’m shocked to hear that Greyston had been with someone so selfish.

“Because she wasn’t the first to tell me my job was a problem, I just decided I wasn’t going to date anyone seriously for a while.” He pauses, his eyes locked on mine, probably trying to glean my reaction from my expression. “I hope you understand that how I feel about you—even after only a short amount of time—far surpasses anything I ever felt for her, and I’d like to think that if you ever gave me the same ultimatum, I might choose differently.”

I shake my head, touched by his admission. “That’s sweet, but I would never make you choose. I’d like to believe I’m not that selfish in nature. It’s your job, and while I might not relish the idea of you going away, I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”

Our food arriving puts our conversation on hold for the moment as Emma offers us some fresh-ground pepper. I accept, and we begin eating. “Oh, god,” I say, adding a little moan to it. “Okay, this is definitely better than popcorn.”

When I open my eyes, I notice Greyston shift in his seat, and I smile. His laugh sounds a little nervous at first, but soon it’s genuine and hearty. “I’m glad to hear it.”

During dinner, we talk about the movie Greyston chose. I admit, I don’t know much about the comic books or the characters, but I have enjoyed all of the other movies in the franchise that I’ve seen already. After I polish off the last of my chicken, Greyston asks if I want dessert. I look at him a little sheepishly. “Um, I’m kind of saving room for that popcorn still.”

“No problem,” he replies with a grin. “I’d be okay with that, too.”

Emma drops the bill on the table, and Greyston snatches it up before I have a chance to reach for it. Truthfully, it’s probably best I don’t look, because I’m pretty sure I’d pass out if I saw just how much our meal came to. I do reach into my purse for my wallet so I can pay for my share, though.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands.

“Paying for my dinner?”

He shakes his head and pulls out enough cash to cover dinner and probably a pretty decent tip. “No, you’re not. I don’t know how that last asshat you dated did things, but
I
asked
you
out. Tonight is on me.”

I don’t put up a fight; instead I embrace this new relationship dynamic with open arms. Having doors opened for me, chairs pulled out, dates paid for…a girl could get used to this. “Okay. Thank you.”

By the time we leave the restaurant we’ve got about an hour until the movie. This is plenty of time, so Greyston doesn’t rush, instead allowing us both to enjoy the leisurely drive.

We luck out, finding a decent parking space in the middle of the lot, and we head inside. It isn’t a surprise that the line for our movie is huge as everyone waits for the last show to let out.

Greyston places a hand on my lower back, drawing my attention to him. “Why don’t you wait in line, and I’ll go get the popcorn?” he suggests.

I agree, requesting extra butter on the popcorn—I hate the dry pieces. Before I leave him, I pop up onto my toes and kiss him on the lips, taking my ticket and heading toward the auditorium while he stands in the concession line.

He joins me in the massive lineup ten minutes later, struggling to balance the large popcorn and two drinks. He’s also grumbling about how it all cost close to half of what our dinner did. Stepping over the thin rope separating the line from the rest of the common area, Greyston hands me my drink.

“Thanks.” I take a sip. “What time is it?”

He checks his watch. “Almost eight. Has the other show let out yet?”

“Yeah, I think they’re just cleaning the theater now.” Just as soon as I speak, a few staff members emerge to let everyone in. We manage to find seats in the middle of the row and near the top. It isn’t long before the entire theater is packed and the lights dim.

As the previews play, I reach over and help myself to the popcorn in Greyston’s lap.  We both point out which upcoming movies we’d like to see, and it surprises me—though it shouldn’t—to find we have pretty similar tastes in films.

I’m caught by surprise when Greyston leans in and places a finger beneath my chin, turning my face to his and kissing me softly. I release a sigh, my desire erupting and pushing through my veins. I can taste the salt from the popcorn on his lips, and I kiss him a little more firmly. It only takes a second to remember where we are and that we’re surrounded by hundreds of other people, and we pull apart, breathless and frustrated. Even though we’d both like to carry on like a couple of horny teenagers, I settle for sidling up to him instead. I slide my arm beneath his and rest my head on his shoulder as we watch the movie.

We don’t move (except to eat popcorn) for the first half of the film. Eventually, my ass starts to fall asleep, so I move to shift my weight, pulling my legs onto my seat and tilting my knees toward Greyston. He sees this as an invitation to rest his hand on my thigh—not that I’m complaining. As his thumb moves back and forth over the denim, I drop the hand I was tickling his arm with to his leg. I’m aware of just how close it is to the zipper of his jeans, but he doesn’t react one way or another, so I figure he’s just really into the movie.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I feel the need to see just how far I can take this.

While I know it’s highly inappropriate, I adjust my body again, this time brushing the side of my breast against his arm. No reaction. He just looks at the screen. With my head still on his shoulder, I continue to watch him through my upper lashes. I flatten my hand on his thigh, my pinky finger grazing the bulge in his jeans. He swallows thickly, and I smile triumphantly, victory swelling in my chest and making my body tingle.

I tilt my head slightly, wanting to feel his lips on mine—to hell with a full theater. He looks down to find me smiling, my hand moving up his thigh until I’m almost palming his crotch.

“Juliette,” he warns under his breath.

I return my eyes to the movie, but my hand remains on his thigh, still moving and feeling his body react to my touch. It’s…empowering. I’m almost drunk on the feeling.

Finally, his hand slides from the outside of my one thigh to between them. He moves it up, the tips of his fingers tracing the heavy seam of my jeans. Excitement zips through my veins as I take a shuddering breath. It doesn’t take long before his hand rests at the juncture between my legs, and I react by curling my fingers into his thigh and bicep, unable to fully process what’s happening.

His hand continues to move, this time back and forth against the seam of my jeans. I want more—need more—but I know it can’t happen here. I’m still aware of our surroundings, even if my vision is starting to darken around the edges. My breaths become shallow, and I dig my nails into his upper arm. My other hand continues to move over what I can only now imagine is a full-blown erection.

We’re seriously like a couple of teenagers.

The movie finally ends, and I’m so worked up from the last forty-five minutes or so—we both are—that I can’t wait to be home and see where all this might lead. I move to stand, but Greyston’s hand presses down on my thigh, stopping me. I’m confused, until I look at the expression on his face.

“Just…give me a minute,” he pleads, his voice gravelly. He leans over and places a kiss below my ear. “You’ve worked me into quite a state.”

A few minutes go by before Greyston and I deem it safe to leave. He lets me walk in front, his hands on my hips as we maneuver through the thick crowd. His thumbs slip beneath the hem of my shirt and tease the bare skin of my back, making my body hum with desire all over again.

It feels like forever before we reach the car, and just as I grab the handle, Greyston flips me around and presses his body to mine, sandwiching me between him and the car. His hands grip my ass firmly, inviting a sharp gasp from me as he lifts me until we’re face-to-face. I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls back before I connect. I whimper when he changes course, letting his lips ghost along the shell of my ear. I twist my fingers into his hair tightly when he lowers me back to the ground.

“You have no idea what it is you do to me.”

“I think I might.” My voice cracks.

Without another word, Greyston unlocks the doors and opens mine for me. I ease into the car, my legs trembling, and he rushes around to the driver’s side. He definitely drives above the speed limit—something my dad would have his head for, but we’ll just keep it a secret between us; I happen to like Greyston’s head right where it is.

We fly through the front door, disarming the alarm and locking the door between frantic kisses.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Greyston suggests.

I shake my head in response. “No time,” I mumble against his lips. “The couch is closer.”

I slip my fingers above the knot in his tie and pull it loose on our clumsy journey toward the living room. Somehow we manage to navigate blindly until my legs hit the seat cushions, and we collapse together. His hands are all over me, gliding, pulling, groping.

I whimper when he pushes himself between my legs. His tongue glides over my lower lip, prompting mine to come out and play. Desperation fuels my actions. I twist my fingers into his hair, holding him in place as I deepen our voracious kiss.

The need to have him touch me everywhere is strong,
but before I can tell him what I want, one of his hands moves from my hips until he’s palming a breast. He squeezes gently before releasing and running his thumb over my hardened nipple. This drives me absolutely wild, and I thrusts my chest forward, begging with every whimper and moan for more.

Naturally, he complies.

He stops kissing me and props himself up on one arm to look down at me. “I’m going to remove your shirt now,” he informs me. I nod, unable to find my voice.

He leans back on his heals, and I sit up, raising my arms over her head to aid Greyston in his mission. The thin satiny fabric does little to hide my nipples—especially since I chose not to wear a bra. It suddenly occurs to me that Greyston is about to see my naked breasts for the first time. I’m nervous again.

He hooks his thumbs beneath the hem of my shirt and slowly moves his hands up. His palms and fingers ghost lightly over my sides as they move upward. He falters, almost hesitating when his palms feel the swell of each breast.

Almost
.

The hem of my shirt grazes my nipples when he raises it above my head. I sigh at the sensation, closing my eyes and biting my lip as he tosses the shirt to the floor and brings his hands immediately back to my chest.

“God, your tits are beautiful,” he tells me.

“Mmm,” I hum, reaching out and loosening a few buttons on his shirt. “They’re okay.”

“No,” he says, squeezing and pinching my nipples. “They’re better than okay.”

I giggles, her cheeks heating up. “If you say so. I’ve never been much into boobs before, so what do I know?”

As Greyston continues to fondle my breasts, I finish unbuttoning his shirt and work on pushing it down his arms.
When it reaches his elbows, it won’t go any further. I tilt my head to the left and arch an brow at him.

“Think you can tear yourself away long enough to take your shirt off?” I ask playfully.

He seems to struggle with the decision, glancing at his hands on my breasts. Eventually, he releases my chest and yanks his shirt down his arms. I’m not naïve enough to realize he moves quickly because he wants to be touching me again.

He rolls us onto our sides, and his fingers seem to follow an invisible trail his eyes have set. They start at my temple, moving down along my cheekbone and over my jaw before tracing the long line of my neck. I sigh, my body electrified and arching into him.

He pauses to kiss and lick the hollow of my throat, and my abdomen quivers against his. My pleasure is slowly mounting, but I’m still so far from where I want to be. His lips roam over my clavicle
and down between my breasts while he cups one of them firmly.

“Oh god,” I pant, arching my back into Greyston’s touch.

He releases my chest, moving his hand firmly down my ribs and over my hips. His thumb firmly traces the soft curve of my hip, stopping once he’s reached the waist of my jeans.

“Do it,” I plead breathlessly. “Please.”

I don’t need to ask Greyston twice. He lowers his face to my breast and pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and making me hiss.
He works quickly to undo the button of my pants before he slips one behind the denim and strokes me above the thin barrier of cotton. I see fireworks behind my closed eyelids. I writhe against Greyston’s hand as he moves it back and forth, tracing the inner-leg seam of my underwear several times before dipping a finger inside.

He releases my breast with a low
pop
and presses his forehead to my sternum. “Fuck me,” he mutters quietly, removing his finger and moving it up to the waist of my panties for better access and mobility.

The minute his entire hand slips beneath the fabric, I sigh a long “
yesssssssss,”
before thrusting my hips against Greyston’s hand.

He slips two fingers between my legs, circling and gliding with ease around my clit and catapulting me closer to the brink of orgasm. I’m lost above him—panting, writhing, and clinging to the arm of the couch as he pleasures me with his nimble and talented fingers.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.”

His words register immediately, and I gasp. My head shoots up, and I stare at Greyston with wide,
horrified
eyes.

He must sense my alarm, because he scoots up on the
couch a little until we’re face-to-face and kisses me lightly
while sliding his fingers back up again.
The tingle returns, relaxing me a little, but not enough. “No no no… It’s
good
, baby,” he tries to assure me, kissing me again and teasing my opening. “So…fucking…good.”