Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 02

She pulled against him again, half-heartedly. “A few times…yes,” she finally admitted. Her chin raised a notch, as if daring him to condemn her for it.

The whole new image of her at work set off a rumbling groan in his chest. Had she done it recently? Because of him? He wanted more. Had to have more of her. Even if he only looked. “Slide your skirt up,” he commanded.

After a moment’s hesitation, she tugged at her skirt with her free hand, but the fabric was trapped under her and wouldn’t go any higher. She slumped back against the seat in defeat. “No…all the way up,” he insisted, letting go of her wrist with some reluctance so she could use both hands.

Free to move, she braced herself against the floor and arched her hips, lifting herself off the seat far enough to tug the skirt higher, up over her hips, bunching around her waist.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring at the pale creaminess of her bare thighs in the dim light. She wasn’t like so many of the women he’d been with; pencil thin and angular or lithe and muscular. Her thighs had a womanly roundness. All gentle curves and softness. Inviting. Utterly and completely feminine.

And just below the bunched layers of skirt fabric he caught another glimpse of the flash of white underwear. The blood pounded in his head. And then she settled back again, her knee riding up on the seat, giving a full view of the lacy fabric that stood between him and that intimate place his cock so desperately wanted to get more closely acquainted with. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Did she?

The buttons of her blouse were still straining against their moorings. He could understand completely how they might feel, the fabric of his boxers and suit trousers bearing the brunt of the pressure on his end.

“Show me your breasts,” he breathed, trying to decide whether he would be better off unzipping his trousers or putting up with the growing discomfort. It wasn’t as if she could see him do it. But that was just yet another slippery slope, he grudgingly admitted to himself.

He was distracted from his inner debate by the movement of her small fingers against the front of her blouse. Each quick tug revealed a few more inches of creamy skin, pale even in the dark shadows of the car. There was the lacy edge of her bra again, the soft curves of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her hands dropped away much too soon, leaving only the top half unbuttoned.

He wanted to reach out…to let the curve fill his hand, fit it perfectly as he knew it would. But they weren’t touching, not this time. He satisfied himself by gently pulling the edges of her blouse apart, daring himself to keep away from the silky softness of her.

He didn’t quite know why, but it was words he wanted to touch her with first. She was opening to him, he could tell. How far could he take it…take her? He took a chance.

“How do you usually make yourself come?”

She seemed to flinch slightly at the question, biting her lip before letting her mouth fall open in quiet breath, her hips rising imperceptibly off the seat.

Fuck, he thought, she liked that? Was it his imagination or had she responded to his question with her whole body? He watched her, entranced, waiting for the answer.

“I…I touch my breasts first,” came the half-whispered reply.

He looked to where her hands lay in her lap, her fingers twisting against each other. “Do it…now.”

He just wanted to watch her, plumb the depths of her reaction. She didn’t seem to be objecting. In fact, she was pressing her hands against the soft rising curve of her breasts, caressing, then tugging at the few remaining buttons, her blouse gaping open. She arched her back, and he felt himself twitch as she smoothed her hands over the thin lacy fabric he so desperately wanted to feel for himself. God, she was pretty. Such a lovely shape. Soft and delicately boned, but womanly. How the fuck had she gone unnoticed?

“And then…?” he prompted, his voice strained.

She didn’t answer, but let her hands drift down, sliding over the gentle arch of her stomach to the white lace between her legs.

Was she wet? he wondered. When she pressed her hands against herself, did she want it to be his hands, on her, touching her?

His head was beginning to spin, and it took some conscious effort to breathe. She was taking quiet gasping breaths, but she’d stopped moving. Her hands went still. What was she waiting for?

“What do you want me to do?” There was a helplessness, a pleading, in her voice. It took a second for it to register. What was she asking of him? What he wanted?

He breathed deep, unable to think. “What do you want to do?”

“Whatever you want. I want…whatever you want.”

Her answer was honest, he could read that much from her voice. But the words struck him somewhere below the solar plexus and radiated outwards in ever increasing circles of deadly heat. They stirred up something in him. Something that frightened him. Scared him shitless. The boundaries…the restrictions he’d always placed on himself…on his behaviour. With her few words she threatened to fracture that control. What he wanted…it wasn’t right. If she only knew what he really wanted, she would never have uttered such dangerous words.

Or was this what he’d been waiting for? Was she able to take it? Take him? Could he afford to show that part of himself to anyone? His body was in motion before these thoughts even fully crystallised, and he had her swiftly trapped back against the seat, his hand on her throat, his breath hot in her ear.

“Don’t…fuck with me.”

Despite his firm grip he felt her chin jerk upwards in defiance. “I’m not…” she protested.

“I’ll ask again…what do you want to do?” He shifted his grip, his thumb brushing the soft skin under her ear before tightening imperceptibly. He wanted an answer.

“I told you…whatever you want.”

Fuck it. She was relentless. And it was driving him crazy. The truth was, he didn’t actually trust himself. The overriding picture in his mind at the moment was bending her across the hood of the car, dog-walkers be damned, and fucking her senseless, right there out in the open. Fuck, Jarod, get a grip!

But he would have something of her, even if he didn’t trust himself to touch her more than he already had. If he did, he wouldn’t stop.

“Give me your panties,” he conceded, dropping his hand from her throat, slumping back into his seat. Pressing his hand over his eyes, he gulped in desperation at the night air to cool him.

She hesitated, but lifted her bottom off the seat and fumbled below her skirt. The flash of white came into view as she tugged them down. There was a pause as she reached her knees, then she kicked off her shoes and slipped the garment over her feet. She sat back, the white lace bunched tightly in her hand, her whole body screaming her reluctance.

He held out his hand. “Over here…” he muttered, just managing to catch the small bundle she thrust towards him. Warm, soft, like her. And fuck…they were damp, from her. He arched back against the seat with a soft grunt, his cock throbbing. FUCK. Never, never had he been this aroused. Never had he been so in need of release and so far from actually wanting it. Because that would end this. This flow of whatever it was between them. This thing that strung him out tight and refused to let go.

He gathered himself, smoothing the soft white fabric over his knee, watching as she clenched her own knees together and stared sightlessly ahead. No, he wouldn’t allow her to back away from it now. The tension in her only spoke of walls that needed knocking down. By him.

He let his hand slide over her knee, hooking his fingers behind it, tugging her leg back towards him. He felt her trembling as she turned in the seat, his grip coaxing her legs apart. He could sense her embarrassment at being on such open display, at being exposed. He wasn’t about to tell her that in the darkness, all he could see were shadows. Or that instead of her naked pussy, it was all he could do to tear his gaze away from the frantic rise and fall of her sweet breasts, the sensuous curve of her mouth, the arch of her neck.

All his senses tuned into her, and the madness that pursued him took over from any remaining shred of rational thought. She’d opened herself to him, and he had to see how far back he could push her resistance. How far would she trust him? How deep could he sink into her acceptance?

His hand lingered rebelliously on her knee, steadying her, catching her shiver. She waited for him. For what happened next. A rush of something new flooded through his chest and up the back of his neck and it brought small smile to his lips. He felt oddly…free.

“Go on,” he said softly, his voice rough with this new-found feeling.

She turned towards his voice, her own filled with uncertainty, “I…”

“Touch yourself,” he said, firmly. He watched her wrestle with the instruction, her emotions flickering over her face, one after another. He caught the moment she set her mouth in some inner resolution, and her hand made its fumbling way past the bunched folds of her skirt into the dark shadows between her legs.

His arousal had been evolving into some new thing. That golden thread between them glowed brighter than it ever had before, and he just wanted to ride the buzz, the hum of it. This wasn’t about physical release at all. It was the thrill of being really, truly present. With her. Tuned into every breath of the dark-haired creature in front of him.

Her hand dipped down, tentative at first, then more confident, those delicate fingers moving in their own, familiar dance. Damn it, he wanted it to be his hand exploring the heat, the slick wetness. To be deep inside, feeling her draw him in. His chest ached from holding his breath, his eyes following the hypnotic motion of her hand.

She was breathing deep now, raggedly, her hips rising just slightly off the seat as she stroked herself. God, she was beautiful.

“Slow…go slow,” he murmured, pleased when she responded, settling further back into the seat, her earlier bashfulness forgotten, her movements slowing, relaxing, undulating.

She gasped softly, her head falling back against the seat, her body shifting restlessly with a new desperation. “Please…” she whimpered.

“Please what?” he demanded between heaving breaths, his voice low and choked, held captive by the power she so effortlessly placed in his hands.

“I want…” she paused, conflicted, frantic. “My fingers…inside…” she whispered, barely audible.

He swallowed the deep groan that threatened to emerge at the thought of filling her up, filling her with himself. Fuck. He gripped the steering wheel and buried his head in his arms, the heat rolling up his body in waves. FUCK. He wanted her so badly.

He took a long, shaky breath and forced himself to answer, “Yes, go on...”

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, pushing back against his seat when she began to moan softly. Covered his face in his hands when she arched against her seat, whimpering quietly. How much more of this could he stand before he totally lost it?

“I’m going to come…” she cried out plaintively.

No. For all his desperation he didn’t want this to be over yet. Not so soon. “Not yet. Not until I say…” he growled, cursing under his breath at the sound of her soft, frustrated cries.

He turned to face her completely, tucking his leg under him and leaning forward. His eyes drifted down her body, consumed by this vision of her, the picture he’d held in his mind and made into reality. Everything about her was open, exposed for him. Blouse unbuttoned, skirt pushed up, completely bare-ass naked against the leather of the seats, her small hands buried in her wet heat. Her head was thrown back, the pale curve of her throat so close…so tempting. He ached just to taste her.

He reached out a hand, sliding it along the delicate line of her jaw before gripped her chin firmly. Her lips parted slightly at his touch, and his thumb strayed, drifting across the velvet softness of her lower lip. He would have that at least. The feel of her wet tongue against his skin. He pushed against her lips gently, letting his thumb slip in, rubbing back and forth along her lower lip slowly, coaxing, requesting entry. She opened under his caress, drawing him into her mouth, sucking gently, then insistently, her warm tongue swirling around the soft pad of his thumb and along the ridge of his knuckle. He felt as if the breath was being drawn out of his body as he groaned, lost to everything but the feel of her drawing him deeper, sucking harder. Oh fuck.

“Come…” he growled, his voice low. He felt her moan softly against his hand. “Come for me…now,” he said, stronger this time.

It was like he’d set off a blazing firecracker, her body arching towards him, into the knowing touch of her own fingers, pressing into herself as it hit her in waves. He could only absorb it, amazed at the bucking, sensuous creature underneath him. Her cries tugged at him, wrenched his desire to breaking point. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he lunged towards her, burying his face against her thigh, his cheek pressed against the backs of her trembling hands, his teeth nipping her smooth flesh. He bit down, hard. The light consumed him, surrounded him. He drowned himself in her warmth until he knew…knew he had to drag himself back before he couldn’t anymore.

“Good girl,” he whispered, gasping for breath against her damp skin. Good girl.

* * * * *

The leaves in the trees overhead jostled together in a quiet hiss as the night breeze flooded past them and gusted through the open window. The blood still rushed and pounded in his ears and his chest ached. He felt as if he were experiencing some state of physical shock. He tried to go over in his mind what had just happened, but it was all a bit of a blur. So much for just taking her out for a ride and a chat.

He dropped his arm from where he’d been pressing it against his closed eyes. She’d gone pretty quiet. Part of him hardly dared look at her. She most certainly must be heading swiftly towards regret by now.

A glance towards the passenger seat confirmed his suspicions that he was a world-class prick. She was huddled against the far door, hands still between her legs, but now it seemed in a much-too-late attempt at modesty. The cool air pouring in the window finally registered at around the same time he saw her begin to shiver. Fuck, she must be freezing. The window rolled up while he switched all the dials to heat. She visibly flinched the moment he twisted the key in the ignition. Shit. He only wanted to warm her up.

She was shutting off from him again, he could tell, and that part of him that still basked in the memory of the golden glow of light from their closeness searched desperately for a way to claw that feeling back to him. He reached out a tentative hand to her shoulder, letting his fingers gently drift along her neck. But her shoulders hunched as she shied away from him. Fuck. Had what he asked from her been so reprehensible that she couldn’t even bear his touch? She’d been willing in the moment, hadn’t she?

He persevered, allowing his hand to rest on the nape of her neck, relieved when her shoulders gradually relaxed under his touch. So she wasn’t entirely repulsed. Just scared shitless of him. Great.

His thumb moved of its own volition, finding that soft place along her neck as if drawn there magnetically. He regarded her silently, studying the set of her mouth, the angle of her head. So beautiful. He leaned in nearer, only just holding himself back from burying his face in her hair.

“You please me very much,” he whispered without even thinking, the truth of it surprising him. He pulled back, gauging her reaction, but she barely moved, staring ahead. Shit.

What must she be thinking? He didn’t dare ask, and an old feeling that had been steadily creeping up on him now settled around him like a leaden blanket. Self-disgust. The small scratching, itching voice in the back of his head that told him in unequivocal terms that he was a bastard.

He sat further back, barely able to look at her, memories bubbling up unbidden. Jenny, wallflower Jenny. Jenny, in the back seat of his Dad’s old Ford Consul, reproachful tears trembling in her big blue eyes as she jerked her clothes back into place. Those eyes accusing him of going too far, too fast. His rising confusion at how all those yes’s could actually mean no. Her unspoken condemnation, that he was too crass, too rough. The soft slam of the car door after the painfully silent drive home.

He shook his head, trying to clear the old anguish that threatened to seep up through the steadily appearing cracks in his defences. He stared hard at the dark-haired creature next to him, taking in her dishevelled clothes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and gave into hopelessness.

“You can cover yourself now,” he muttered, with difficulty.

He dropped his hand from her neck, allowing the hardness, the coldness to slam shut over top of his old wounds.

* * * * *

They drove, the only sound the rumble of the engine, the wheels on the road. She hadn’t made any move to take the blindfold off, and he hadn’t done anything about it either. He wasn’t sure he could stand to have her look at him. To see whatever must surely be in her eyes. He couldn’t face that right now.

He slowed, tugging the scrap of paper out of his pocket to check it against the street name, then the house numbers. Yes, being the gentleman he was, he’d found his way into passworded Human Resources files on the shared server at work and nicked her information before he’d left. Address. Middle name. Jane. Stephanie Jane. She had a mild nut allergy. She earned way too little. But that was pretty obvious from the neighbourhood they were driving through. The useless facts floated around in his head. A sad attempt to distract himself from the fact she hadn’t uttered a word. Hadn’t made a sound.

He spotted the right house number and pulled gently to the curb, watching her silently before leaning across and popping her door open. Sensing that they’d stopped, she was feeling around her for her handbag, tugging again at her clothes to make sure she was decent. Then she just pushed the door open and stepped out, a little unsteadily, he thought. She let the door close with a soft thump, and he was locked into his own silence. In the darkness he saw her hand go up, then drop back to her side, clutching his tie.

He watched, his mind deliberately set to blankness, as she made her way up the front steps of the old row house and in through the front door. Was he waiting for her to turn back? To run back into his arms? To come back and slap him? But she hadn’t. She’d just shut the door behind her without a backward glance, and he was left sitting in the dark of his car, with his thoughts his only company.

He went to put the car into reverse, and noticed the flash of white on the edge of his seat. Her white, lacy underwear. She’d left it behind. The pale fabric shone out brightly in the shadows as if to mock him. He carefully rolled them up and stuffed them into his pocket, trying to ignore the inexplicable tightness in his chest.

* * * * *

He ran, relentless, ignoring his usual programme. This wasn’t about fitness, this was pure, full-on venting. The arousal hadn’t entirely gone, lingering like a red haze in the corners of his mind. But it wasn’t just sexual frustration that had him at a flat-out sprint, the slap of his feet on the treadmill the only sound echoing through the deserted gym. Even he knew it was just a desperate attempt to outrun the ghosts and to distance himself from…himself.

* * * * *