Truth or Beard(83)

I both loved and hated his embrace—loved for obvious reasons, hated because I knew I needed to keep myself at a distance when all I wanted to do was snuggle, and kiss, and grope him with abandon. But if I did that then I’d likely have to face another of his gentle rejections.

I needed to be mindful and circumspect.

I felt the familiar building of desperation and urgency, but I pushed it away.

He wanted to go slow. I could go slow. I could do that. I could control myself. I could.

I felt Duane lean away, felt his gaze on me, so I opened my eyes and met his. He was frowning, searching my face.

“What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

His frown escalated in severity, his forehead creasing. “What’s wrong, Jess? And don’t say nothing. You’re all stiff and distant.”

Emotion I didn’t recognize felt like a swelling balloon in my throat and I pressed my lips together, not knowing how to respond.

And then he said, “Just be honest.”

So I sighed and was honest. “I’m trying to go slow. But, it’s not easy. I, well, I really like you. Like, really like you. I’m thinking about you all the time and last week was difficult, when we were apart. It may sound crazy, but I missed you terribly, and not because you get me all hot and bothered. Yeah, that’s part of it. But you make me laugh, and being with you feels so good, comfortable. But based on how you keep putting me off, I think you want to go slow. I’m trying to…” I shrugged, searched the space around his head for the right words, and finally settled on, “I’m trying to be less wild and reckless. I want to be respectful of you, of your wishes. And that’s the whole truth.”

Duane’s mouth parted slightly and his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. All hints of his earlier frown had vanished. Unless I was misreading his expression, he appeared to be a little lost, like maybe I’d stolen his breath and his wallet and his passport and his memories. Really, he looked stunned.

I swallowed, not sure what to say or do as the slow song came to an end and silence took its place. My heart thundered painfully in my chest. The moment felt taut and untenable, so I moved to distance myself. Duane’s grip tightened, preventing me from stepping away.

Then something behind his gaze acutely sharpened, and the sharpness felt dangerous. My eyes widened in alarm just before Duane’s mouth sought and claimed mine. He kissed me—wet, devouring, open-mouthed kisses—and gripped my arms a little too tight. He walked me backward until my legs connected with the hood of the Mustang. Pushing me backward, he released my arms, his hands moving to the zipper of my coveralls.

Breathing hard, I gripped his wrists and ducked my head to the side to evade his mouth. Duane’s savageness caught me off guard and sucked me into a vortex of ferocious longing. “Wait…wait a minute. What’s—”

“I want you, Jess. So much. You don’t know…” He unzipped the jumper, pulling it off my shoulders with a yank and trapping my arms against my sides, lowering my back to the car. His mouth and tongue worked, kissing and licking and sucking from my jaw to my neck to my white lace-covered breast. I moaned and whimpered as he did something truly fantastic to my nipple with his teeth and the tip of his tongue. I didn’t know if I’d ever recover, as sharp slices of hot need ran down my spine and to my lower abdomen.

“Duane, please.” My arms were still trapped and I was laying on the hood of the car, writhing and arching my back, trying to get closer. He was over me, devouring my skin, pressing his thigh where I needed him.

“Don’t change a thing. God, Jess. Don’t change a single thing. Be wild for me, be reckless. I love your kind of wild. I love…”

His words were lost as he moved lower, his hand replacing his leg. My breath came in short, excited bursts and I briefly fought the sleeves holding my arms to my sides. But then my captivity was forgotten and I melted against the metal of his Mustang, a bundle of nerve endings and feelings and insensible desire.

He had me trapped. I was helpless to him. As he touched and tasted my body, he watched me, his gaze a mirror of the urgency and desperation I felt at his hands and mouth.

Maybe I was being absurd and reckless, misguided and foolish. I knew he would push me, I had no doubt. But I trusted him. I trusted that, even though Duane would definitely push, he’d also be there to catch me when I fall.





CHAPTER 16


“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”

― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest





~Duane~


She wanted to give me a blow job.