by Lisa Levine
"Do you want my honest answer or my gentle-feelings answer?" Bridget asked.
"You know that I always want your honest answer," I said, even though I was worried about what she was going to say.
"He didn't stop before having sex with you because he wants to make it some special storybook event for you. He stopped because he's scared."
"Scared? Of what?"
"He's scared of hurting you, of losing you or damaging your friendship. He's probably worried about the pressure this puts on him to be a decent guy to stop wagging his cock around in front of all the women in the city that he has boned."
"Bridget, geez!" I said. I wanted honesty, but she didn't have to be quite that blunt.
"Sorry," she said. "But it's the truth. If you got Easton all riled-up and then he stopped before getting to have sex with you, then he does truly care about you, Ivy. Like, a lot, more than I even thought to be honest. That's a good thing, but he's also scared. And fear can always go either way with things. When are you seeing him again?" she asked.
"Tonight. We have plans to go on an actual dinner date together tonight," I said excitedly. "Not a friend date, but an actual boyfriend-girlfriend date."
"I know you've always wanted that," Bridget smiled at me. Her smile seemed a little forced, though. She was worried about something, I could tell. But I didn't ask her yet because I wanted to stay inside the happy mood that I was in.
15
***
The last time that I had gotten all dressed up was for the double date at the nightclub, and that ended horribly. So, it was a natural response that I was getting so nervous now. This time, I skipped the dress and decided on black skinny jeans and a sexy-looking floral bustier beneath a leather jacket.
"Wow," Bridget said as I walked out into the living room. "That is one hell of a sexy outfit."
"Thanks," I grinned.
She came up to me and adjusted the sleeves of my jacket. They didn't really need fixing; she just wanted to talk to me. "Just be careful, okay?" she warned with a gentle tone of voice.
"Bridget, it's Easton we're talking about here. Nothing bad is going to happen. I've known him for half of my life."
"Yes, that's true," she said. "But, you haven't known him in this way before."
"That's ridiculous," I said just as there was a knock at the door.
"Wow," Easton said, echoing Bridget's sentiment as I open the door wide for him to come inside. "You look incredible."
"Thanks," I smiled.
On the car ride to the restaurant, Easton put his hand in my lap and held onto my fingers there against my thigh. I loved that we could touch each other now, and that stressed-out, uncertain feeling was gone.
The restaurant was moderately crowded, and as we sat down to face each other on opposite sides of the table, it felt weird going out as something more than friends now. But it also felt really good—like what I had been waiting for. We chatted about various things and looked like two normal people out on a date, and I was reminded of how much magic can be found in the mundane. We didn’t talk at all about sex or what had happened the other night, and I was surprised by that. For some reason, I thought that would be the focal point of conversation. But instead, it stayed swept under the rug for now, and I guessed that was okay, at least during dinner.
I wanted to ask him about it at some point tonight, though, because what Bridget had said was still lingering in my mind. I needed to ask him if he was afraid of something and what the reason was that he really had stopped and put the brakes on that heated moment. Bridget was right; it had looked like it pained him to quit, so maybe there was a deeper reason here than what I had seen at first glance. Either way, I wanted Easton and me to be able to talk about everything together, with no secrets, just as we always have.
"You look really beautiful tonight," he said.
"Thanks," I smiled. Hearing him say things like to me still seemed so unusual, and it made my heart flutter.
After a few drinks that seemed to help with loosening us up, we were back to talking about every random thing that came to mind, except for the encounter the other night.
"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked as she came over again and interrupted our talking for the umpteenth time. "Another bottle of wine, perhaps?"
"No, thank you," Easton said. "I think we've taken up your table for long enough."
"Nonsense," she said. "I'd love it if you stayed.
That was a weird thing to say.
Easton must have thought it sounded strange, too, because he looked up at her to see her face. She was pretty and was smiling back at him with an expression that was more friendly than necessary.
"I insist," she said. "It's on the house."
"Really?" he replied with a grin. "Then I guess we'll stay."
She flounced her hair on top of her shoulder as she smiled again and then turned and went to grab us another bottle of wine. When she returned with it, she had taken off her apron and was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt now.
"End of your shift?" Easton asked in small talk as she poured our glasses.
"Yeah," she said. "The apron feels a bit restricting at times."
This time, before she walked away, she reached out and touched his arm. "Stay as long as you like; I don't have anywhere else to be tonight.
I was starting to get uncomfortable as I watched Easton's eyes follow her while she walked away.
"I want to leave," I blurted out.
"What? Why? We just got another bottle of wine. Aren't you having a good time?"
"Yes, I was," I said. "But now I'm not, and I'd like to leave, please."
"What's wrong?" he asked as he held his hand out to me.
I didn't even like sitting on opposite sides of the table. I liked it better when we were in a casual booth somewhere, and we could slouch against the back of the booth and sit with our bodies next to each other. I was pretty much done with this fancy restaurant and the overly flirtatious waitress.
"The waitress is hitting on you," I said.
"What? No, she's not," Easton replied.
"Yes," I said. "She is, and I don't even think you realize that you're flirting back."
"No, I'm not," he said as he shook his head and took another sip of his wine.
"Yes, you are. I'll prove it."
I was getting upset now. I was already stressed about wanting to talk about the other night, and now I felt like this woman was intruding on our date. I waved my hand toward her to call her back to the table. Of course, she was watching our table with eagle eyes, so she came over right away.
"Can I get you something?" she asked while she stared at Easton instead of looking at me, who had been the one to call for her, to begin with.
"My best friend would like to know if you're interested in sleeping with him," I said bluntly.
She turned her head quickly to look at me, and I felt Easton's eyes bore into me while he wondered what in the hell I was doing. "Your best friend?" she asked. "I thought you two were here on a date."
"Nope," I said. "Just best friends. I'm trying to help him find a girl because it's been a while for him if you know what I mean."
I heard Easton chuckle, and I looked across the table to see the smirk on his face. Apparently, he thought this little game was amusing. The waitress was all over it now as soon as she saw that as her opportunity to get with Easton. She leaned over and put her hands onto the table as she bent down to look in his face. Then, much to my great surprise and horror, she leaned forward and kissed him. Where in the hell was this woman's boss?
I watched as the kiss seemed to take forever and could only imagine that she was twirling her tongue around in Easton's mouth. I didn't give a shit what she was doing; what I cared about was how he reacted to her. He didn't reach up to touch her, but he didn't pull away, either. The thing that drew my attention the most was his hand that was holding onto the side of the table with his fingers clenching onto the edge so hard that his knuckles we
re turning white.
"Interested?" she said as she stood back up again after the kiss.
"No," Easton answered in a very businesslike tone. "Thank you, but we actually are out on a date, and I'm not sure what game my girlfriend is playing, but I'm not interested in anyone besides her."
The waitress looked put-off. "You might want to tell that to your pants then," she said as she flipped her head around and walked away.
His pants?
"What was that supposed to mean?" I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. "No idea, but why would you do something like that?"
For a minute, I felt ridiculous and ashamed of having done something so petty and stupid. Easton had called me his girlfriend, and that made me so happy. But then I realized what the waitress had meant. I stood up and walked over next to him as he looked at me, still trying to figure out what I was up to. I looked down at his lap and saw the tight, bulging mass that pressed against his taut jeans. Ridiculous or not, I felt like I was going to start to cry.
"She turned you on," I said, sounding pitifully upset. "Kissing the waitress turned you on."
Easton stood up, too, which probably wasn't the best idea if he was trying not to draw attention to the fact that he was hard and ready to fuck someone.
"Ivy, this is insane. You shouldn't have said that to the waitress; I wasn't doing anything except enjoying our date together. Of course, it turned me on, it was a very sexual kiss, and I couldn't help it. It's been a while since I've had sex and—it doesn't matter, I don't have any feelings for the waitress for God’s sake. I don't want her; I want you."
He reached out his hands to take mine, but I took a step back. I was trying not to make a scene in the restaurant, especially not with her watching.
"But you could have had sex with me," I cried. "You stopped because you didn't want to have sex with me, and I want to know why. Why do you seem to want to screw every other woman in Chicago except for me?"
"That is not true at all," he said with an overwhelming look of frustration as his eyes narrowed. "I do want to have sex with you, badly. But I want it to be more than just sex between the two of us; I want to make love to you. There's a difference. I can have sex with a different woman every night if I want to, and believe me, I have. But that's not what I want now."
"Tell that to your pants," I scoffed.
Bridget was right. Easton couldn’t even help it. He'll always be turned on by a new and pretty face.
"Ivy, please," he said as he stepped closer to me and took my hands in his.
"Fine," I said. "Then prove it."
I reached my face forward to his and kissed him. I pushed my tongue into his mouth and pressed my body up against his. I even ran my hand down along the front of his pants and felt him throbbing inside. Touching him there made my thighs ache. I could feel the stiff, throbbing of the large mass beneath his pants, and I knew that my touch incited the further rise within him; and I wanted it.
"Ivy, stop," he said as he pulled away. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to excite you the way that the waitress did," I said. "I want you to make love to me."
"I don't want it to be like this," he said. His eyes looked upset and almost sad.
16
Chapter Ten (Easton)
If Ivy had any idea how much she excited me, she wouldn't feel the need to be doing this. Just looking at her turned me on, and her touch drove me completely wild. It took everything I had to pull away from her in the restaurant and not push myself back into her hand that I could feel rubbing against the fabric of my jeans. But this wasn't right; it wasn't the way that things should be, not with her. I didn’t know what kind of stunt she was trying to pull with the waitress. I knew she was jealous, but it wasn't my fault. I hadn't wanted to kiss the waitress; I hadn't even been paying attention to her.
"Look," I said as I saw her emotions escalate. "Let's go home and talk about this, okay?"
"Fine," she said as she started to stomp off toward the car.
I threw a wad of cash onto the table and followed her out.
When we got into the car, Ivy was near tears. I turned to talk to her without even starting the engine yet.
"Hey," I said as I reached for her face and turned her toward me. "Look at me. What is it? What is causing all of this? I thought things were going well."
"Why didn't you make love to me the other night?" she cried.
"I told you, I want to take things slow and keep them special between us," I said.
"I don't think that's true."
"What?"
"I think that you're scared," she said.
"Scared of what?" I asked. I felt my heart pound inside my chest because she was right; I was terrified. But I didn't want her to know that. I just wanted everything to stay good between us, and I didn't want to risk jeopardizing anything.
"I don't really know," she said. "But Bridget said that—"
"Why in the world would you be listening to Bridget about any of this?" I asked her in frustration. "You and I have known each other for much longer than you and Bridget have. We are best friends, and this is intimate stuff, there's no reason you should feel like you need to talk to anyone else about it but me."
"But I don't believe you," she said. "I think Bridget is right. You're holding back with me, and I don't want you to." Ivy reached across the seat and undid my pants as she leaned forward and kissed me.
"Ivy, please," I said as our tongues slid around each other. "I don't want to make love to you like this, not for your first time."
She wasn't listening. She was too obsessed with making sure that I had sex with her and that somehow that was the definitive factor in making us more than just friends. But I didn't want it to be like that. I knew all too well what happened when I rushed sex, and I was trying to protect my relationship with her. Sitting in the front seat of my Audi was not the way that she should lose her virginity. I cared about her way too much to let that happen. But the more she touched me, the harder it became, literally.
Ivy thrust her hand down into my pants, wrapped her fingers around me, and pulled me completely out of my jeans. There was no way for me to hide the fact that I was so hot and ready for her that it was unbearable. Then she slid her pants and panties off and climbed over onto my lap to straddle me with her back pressed up against the steering wheel.
I was going to burst.
For a second, I let myself give in to it; just one small, single second that I let myself kiss her and wrap my hands behind her back and pull her into me. I let myself feel her hand around my cock and her open thighs lift to hover above me as she got ready to sit down over me. It was an absolutely blinding grasp at self-restraint when I reached to grab her hips and keep her from coming down over me. I had never wanted anything so much, and yet here I was keeping myself from having her.
"We can't do this here in the car," I said.
"You've never had sex in a car?" she asked in disbelief.
She knew that I had. I'd told her way too much about my sexual conquests in the past when we were just friends. It was impossible for my promiscuous reputation not to follow me like a shadow.
"Yes,” I answered honestly as I tried to ignore the painful surging between my legs. "I have. I just don't want to do it that way tonight with you."
That didn't come out at all how I meant it to sound. I wanted it to sound romantic, something about how much more precious she was to me than any other woman I had been with and how I wanted the moment that she gave her virginity to me to be a moment that was utterly beautiful and not in the front seat of a car.
She crawled off me immediately and started to put her pants back on. "Take me home, please," she said without looking at me.
"Ivy, please, let's just go back to my apartment and talk about this."
"Take me home," she said again.
I heard her voice start to crack, and I didn't know what else to do to fix the situation, so I did what she asked and took her back to h
er apartment. When we got there, I turned to talk to her some more before she got out, but she just ignored me and opened the car door and left. There really wasn't anything else for me to do but give her a night to calm down and go back to my place.
When I got home, I tried to text her several times, and when she didn't answer, I tried to call. Still nothing.
I paced around my apartment, and every time I even thought about her, I became a mess of emotions. My body was a mess, too. Every time I pictured Ivy, I ended up with a painfully swollen cock that wouldn't stop. Why hadn't I just had sex with her? It would have solved all of these problems.
I knew that wasn't true, though. As much as I was dying to make love to her, I had to hold myself back. It may have temporarily solved her insecurity and temporarily solved my angst, but it would have created bigger problems in the long run. I had started to develop some very real and very strong feelings for her. It scared me. What if I wasn't even good enough for her? I had always been good enough as a friend, but let's face it; I made a pretty shitty boyfriend. Ivy was so innocent. She had always been there for me, and I was so terrified of screwing things up.
I couldn't think straight. This was all such a huge mess, and instead of being able to concentrate, all I could focus on was the pent up sexual angst that kept rising between my legs.
"I should have just had sex with her," I scolded myself aloud as I ran my hand along my aching crotch.
Then I had an idea. It was a truly awful one, and I knew it. But I needed a release, and it couldn't be Ivy. So, I did something that I knew I shouldn't do; but I did it anyway. I texted Layla.
This was what was called "self-sabotage." I couldn't stand it. I wanted to make love to Ivy, but I also wanted to protect her from myself. So, in order to quench the rising desire within me and hope to be able to think clearly after that, I did the stupidest thing I could have possibly chosen to do. I invited Layla over to have sex.
As soon as she walked into my apartment, she reached for me and started to pull her hand up and down around me. I had already been so worked up all night that it took only a moment before I was ready to go. I picked her up and carried her to my bed as I had done with countless other women and removed all of the clothes from both of our bodies. Then I thrust myself into her as she squealed with delight. I had never felt so much pent-up sexual angst before, and I knew that it had all come from Ivy. I closed my eyes and thought about her, and it drove me wild with the desire to make love to her. But this wasn't making love right now, not with Layla. This was pure and straight-up fucking. Layla wanted it, and I needed it, and as I pushed into her body and quaked with an explosive release, I told myself this one last time would be okay just so that I could take my time with Ivy. Layla stayed the night, and one time turned into four as I tried to work off the constant stimulation that I had been carrying around for days.