Too Broken(25)

       
           



       

This 8th grade, over-the-clothes thing is not working for me so I  quickly reposition both of his hands. I pop the button on my jeans,  quickly slide down the zipper, then place his big paw between the jeans  and my panties. Next I go for the hand on my breast. I have to decide -  up under the shirt, or straight in at the neckline? I'm all about  expediency at the moment, so the neckline it is. This time I place his  hand directly on my flesh, under my bra.

Apparently Ian likes this better because he instantly moves his lower  hand under my panties and directly onto my mound. In the next second he  has both hands working in time with one another. The top hand squeezing  my breast and rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger and his  bottom hand gliding up and down inside my folds, running a path on  either side of my clit, and gently squeezing it between his index and  middle fingers on the upstroke.

I have lost all reason and have given in to the demands of my body. I am  writhing against him, my right hand clutching at his forearm. My mouth  is open and I'm panting and letting out small moans and whimpers.  Luckily the ballad is over and the band has returned to their  ear-splitting speed and volume and my groans go unheard by those around  us. Even if the music wasn't loud, I'm not sure I'd care. Here I was in  plain view for anyone who cared to look, with a man wrapped around me  with his hands in my clothes. I was about to come for all the world, at  this point, what would it matter if someone heard me?

Finding fuel in my passion, Ian begins to get more aggressive. He takes  his hand from my breast and pulls my head back and to the side, baring  my neck to him once again. His hand at the top of my throat, holding me  in place, this time there is no gentleness. He bites and and sucks on my  neck with a ferocity that has me moving closer to my climax. His shaft  is hard and throbbing under his jeans and he's thrusting it into my ass  at an ever increasing pace. All the while his right hand, his wonderful,  magical, right hand is arousing and teasing me. He plucks at my clit,  lifting and pulling it with his thumb and finger, while his middle and  ring finger plunge into me. His hand and hips synchronize and my mind is  easily able to imagine it is his cock in me, not his two fingers. The  image is too much and it sends me over the edge. I cry out loudly, and  his hand on my neck moves up to cover my mouth, silencing the long wail  that accompanies my orgasm. His hips and hand continue to move as my  body convulses around them; my inner muscles gripping his fingers and my  entire torso shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure ripples through  me. It is a long orgasm, and as it finally subsides I am left limp and  breathless.

I lean back heavily against Ian, there is nothing else I can do. Slowly,  he releases my mouth and pulls his hand from my pants. He quickly  buttons and zips me back up, and repositions my breast within my bra,  making sure my shirt is righted. Then placing both hands on my hips, he  gives the top of my head a long, soft kiss, before putting his arms  around my waist again and holds me.

Every fiber in my body knows this will not last. I know that when the  music ends and it is time to head back to Santa Monica, that he'll pull  away, far beyond my reach. But right here, right now, I return to living  in the moment and bask in the glow of the strongest orgasm I've ever  had.

Bernie and the Fighting Irish take a break after about two hours. I am  amazed and impressed they can go that long given the intensity of their  music. As they head for the keg, the crowd begins to dissipate and move  around us.

"Let's get out of here," Ian says.

"Don't you want to talk to Bernie?" I ask.

"Nah," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the road.

"Are you going to book them?" I ask, curious of what he thought of the crowd.

"Doubtful," he says. Great, one word answers; this is going to be a fun ride home.

We get back to the truck and Ian settles me inside before running around  to his side. He quickly does a U-turn and we are on our way back to  reality.

We drive in silence for about ten minutes. I'm trying to decide what to  say, and how to say it. When I feel this strongly about something, I  tend to go with the candid truth. It's the easiest.

"I want to sleep with you, Ian. I want to date you. Your mixed signals are driving me crazy," I conclude.

"I'm not sending mixed signals," he retorts. "I just told you three  hours ago that I didn't want to date." He is factual, completely  unapologetic.

"Right," I concede. "And then you gave me an orgasm."

He doesn't respond immediately and I start getting antsy. "Make no  mistake Kelli, I want you. I want to fuck you. But I do not want to date  you."                       
       
           



       

"Why the fuck not?" I shout, throwing up my hands and turning my torso towards him in the darkened cab.

Again he falls silent and I have to take deep breaths to keep from  screaming. This man pushes my buttons like no other and I just want to  shake him until he makes sense.

"I'm not suited for dating, Kelli," he says. "It doesn't matter how much I may want to fuck you, I will not date you."

"Alright, then let's just sleep together," I say. It's not what I want, I know that, but a fuck is better than nothing, right?

"No," he says, shutting that option down.

"Why the fuck not?" I repeat. God, this man is so frustrating!

"You want more than a fuck from me, and we both know that," he says.

"Yes, you're right, I do. But guess what?" I ask, but don't wait for him  to answer. "I'm a big fucking girl and if you say all we can do is  screw, then I'll deal with that. What, do you think I'm going to become  obsessed with you after I get a taste of your cock or something? I've  had casual sex before Ian, I know how the drill goes."

He shakes his head and doesn't answer. Oddly, he seems sad.

I sit there fuming. I don't know why I'm so pissed, I can tell he's  trying to let me down easily, but it infuriates me. If I'm being honest  with myself, I know without a doubt that I cannot handle casual sex with  him. I know I am minutes away from falling in love with him. If we had  sex, I'd be a goner, no doubt. But that should be my decision, it should  be my problem to deal with.

"Jesus, Ian," I say. "Say something!"

"There's nothing more for me to say, Kelli," he concludes. "We will never be a couple. It's as simple as that."

"Why?" I ask in a whisper. The fire has left me and I feel spent and on  the verge of tears. Oh hell no, I will not cry right now!

"I'm not the man for you. Please, trust me," he says simply, sadly.

"And you get to decide that for me, do you?" I ask. "Doesn't that seem a little fucked up?"

"Damn it, Kelli! I don't want this! How many ways do I have to say it?" he yells, effectively ending the conversation.

We drive home in silence and when he pulls in front of my place, I don't  give him a chance to get out, unbuckling and opening the door before  he's even stops the truck.

"Good night," I toss behind me as I jump out and race towards my door.  Once inside, I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

My mind tries to reign my emotions in with logical, well-reasoned  arguments like, "We were not dating. We've never had sex. He's NOT my  boyfriend." But my heart could give a flying fuck. There is something  about Ian that I'm undeniably drawn to and even if it doesn't make sense  since I've only known him a few weeks, Ian is the man of my dreams.  Hell, he exceeds my dreams; I wouldn't even dare to fantasize someone as  incredible as him.

And he's rejected you. Unequivocally.

With a shuddering inhale, I get up and head into the bathroom. I wash my  face, brush my teeth and get into my pajamas. I get into bed feeling  hollow and depressed. Another instance of unrequited love for Kelli. Go  me!



******



The next day dawns early, bright, and unwelcomed. I lay in bed,  unmoving, staring at the ceiling and marveling at my pathetic response  to Ian's rejection. If you look at the facts, what transpired last night  was no big deal. I've known Ian a month. We've shared a couple kisses  and he's given me a couple orgasms. That's it! We never went on dates,  we never talked about becoming more than employer and employee, he never  indicated that there would ever be anything more than what was.

But what we have seems different to me, seems special. How many times  was there a shared look, a stolen touch, a laugh that created a direct  line from my heart to his? I could have sworn those were felt mutually.  He was there with me in those moments, I had felt him.

Or at least I thought I had. Clearly I had been mistaken.