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.