Waiting For The Other Shoe To Drop: Part 25

The drive to David's condo was short but it felt as if we were driving to Atlanta. My thighs shivered as I watched his hands grip the stirring wheel of the Dodge Challenger. I was a sucker for sports cars. One of the second things that I'd done after moving to Charlotte was purchase a black Camaro. It allowed me to live out my Knight Rider fantasies. But I kept my Mustang too. Otherwise, wearing a Ride The Pony tee shirt would invite the wrong kind of questions.  And those same questions were dancing in my head right now. Would I get to devour his lips as a part of my lunch? Could he cook or would I be satisfied in another way? His hips thrusting into mine with my legs wrapped around him with my back against the wall or pressed against his bed. I wondered if his mattress was soft or firm. Really? I chided myself, forcing my eyes to concentrate on parking garage or the address that I was going to.

"You're pretty quiet over there," he said when he pulled into what I assumed was an assigned parking spot.

"I was thinking about something," I replied as I smiled at him.

"What's that?"

"What if you can't cook and I leave here hungry?"

"Funny. And I know that isn't what you were thinking, Catwoman."

"Excuse me?"

"Your thigh has a funk or is it a blues in it. Even through those pants I could see it throbbing."

My throat went dry; there was no way in hell that I was that transparent. "That's not true."

"Maybe not, but that's what was going on over here. Before your job got in the way," he said as he inched closer to me and took my chin in his hand. "I wanted to do this." Slowly his lips captured mine, soft and sweet, his tongue entered my mouth—skillfully kissing me until my panties were soaked like a rain soaked meadow.

Then he placed his hot hand on my throbbing thigh. Yes, he had been right; I had a blues, a funk and wanton thoughts vibrating throughout my thighs and every other point in between.

Moans filled the air in the car and I was so ready to strip out of my pants and let him touch and caress my hot wetness. But, the sane part of me —God I hate her sensible ass—made me stop. I pulled my lips away from his and placed my hand on top of his. It was hot to the touch. I was supposed push his hand away and tell him that I was simply here to have dinner, I mean lunch or whatever. Our eyes locked and I knew that we weren’t eating food today.

.”I need you,” he moaned and I was putty in his hot hands. For a moment, I thought he was about to strip me naked in the car and make love to me in the bucket seat. I would’ve let him. I reached up and stroked his cheek. The sane and sensible part of me was about to say, “We’re moving too fast.” But the lusty monster inside of me who needed the touch and stroke of a man spoke first. “I want you.”