The Gun Runner(20)

I kicked off my flats, unbuttoned my pants, and pushed them down my thighs. He stared. I pulled them past my feet and tossed them into the pile. He hung from the bar, still staring in my direction. I slowly removed my panties.

His eyes went wide.

I lowered my right hand between my legs. The crotch of his sweats began to rise. I slid my finger in my pussy, closed my eyes, and moaned out into the room.

I opened my eyes.

He hung from the bar, the fabric of his sweats stretched to its limit.

I acted uninterested, turned away, and got on the treadmill. A few strides into what I expected would be a five-mile naked run, and I tilted my head toward him.

Still hanging from the bar with his cock poking straight out, he looked frustrated.

I hope you choke on your thirty-day rule, mister.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Exercise makes it all better,” I lied.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

He released his grip from the bar, dropped to the floor and pressed against his stiff dick with the heel of his palm.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

With his face clearly showing his discomfort, he tossed his head toward the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where you going?”

“I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

I continued my naked sprint. “Okay.”

With both hands pressing into the crotch of his sweats, he turned away. In a few steps, he disappeared down the hallway.

My mouth curled into a smile.

If I couldn’t have sex for ten more days, at least I could have fun.





Chapter Eight

Michael

We were six days away from having sex, and both of us seemed to be enjoying teasing the other about the limitations of my self-imposed thirty-day restriction. Initially, I thought it would be easy for me. After all, I had gone years without sex. In a relationship with Terra, however, things were different.

It was difficult.

My desire to be with her sexually was greater than my desire to do anything else. I attributed the longing to have sex with her to my knowing I couldn’t. Naturally, I wanted what I couldn’t have. At least that’s what I told myself.

Standing on the retail side of the entrance to the dressing rooms staring at her, I began to believe my yearning was more a result of her natural beauty.

She pressed the balls of her feet to the floor, lifted her heels, and spun in a circle. “What do you think?”

The little black dress. A staple in every girl’s wardrobe. Sleeveless with a neckline that exposed the cleavage of her shapely breasts, the dress she chose was revealing enough to provoke tremendous temptation. The knee-high length made it almost elegant.

She did the rest.

I wiped my sweaty palms against the thighs of my jeans. “I love it.”

“Love it, or just kind of like it?”

I shook my head in disbelief at what stood before me. “Love, love, love it. You look stunning.”

She cocked her hip. “Should I get it?”

“If you don’t, I will.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you in this.”

“Not for me, you weirdo. For you. It’s perfect.”

Her eyes dropped to my feet and slowly raised until she met my gaze. She pressed her biceps against the sides of her boobs, forcing more of them to burst out of the plunging neck of the dress. “Okay, I’ll get it.”

I felt my dick go stiff until the denim fabric of my jeans prevented any further progression.

“Uhhm.” She cocked her hip, pressed her elbow to her side, and wagged her index finger toward me. “Your uhhm. You’ve got that stiff cock thing going on again.”

I glanced over my shoulder before pressing the heel of my palm against it. “I’m well aware.”

With her eyes glued to my crotch, she raised one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Shame.”

I checked over my shoulder again, did what I could to adjust myself, and pointed toward the long row of dressing rooms. “Go change.”

Obviously making a conscious effort to destroy my sexual reservations, she turned and sashayed toward her dressing room. Watching the cheeks of her perfectly shaped ass rise and fall with each exaggerated step without acting on my desires was sheer torture. With a perfect combination of beauty, charm and elegance, she made her way to the doorway at the end of the corridor.

Thirty seconds later, and she was calling out to me for help.

“Michael, can you come here for a minute?”

Being at Saks Fifth Avenue on a Wednesday night was a far different shopping experience than what I was used to. In complete contrast to my midday runs to the hardware store for duct tape or makeshift firearms parts, it was actually enjoyable. Not only was there a lack of patrons in the store, there seemed to be far fewer employees, which made me feel much less guilty about walking to her dressing room and seeing exactly what it was she thought she needed.