Then he rips it. I’m not particularly attached to the panties, but they did match my dress. I can’t summon much sorrow over their loss though, considering how good it feels to have his warm, hard hand playing in their absence.
“Are you wet, Luna?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but pushes one big finger between my folds and inside. God, it feels so good. I clench, squeezing his finger, trying to urge him to do more. But he doesn’t. “Jesus Christ,” he curses and pulls back, pushing me away so quickly my head spins.
He sits back and stares out the window, his breath coming fast. “Fix your dress, sweetheart. I don’t want to fuck you in the back of a limo.”
I pull it down with trembling hands, and then realize I’ll need to get rid of the panties. I manage to work them down my legs and off without pulling my dress all the way back up. When they clear my feet and I’ve got my dress rearranged, I look around for somewhere to put the mangled scrap of lace.
“Here,” Gabe says, raspy, holding his hand out. I hand them to him, thinking he’s going to pull a trashcan out. But he tucks them into the inside pocket of his jacket and sits back.
And that turns me on, that he wants that little reminder to take with him. But he doesn’t look at me again until we pull up to the Mobile Theater Guild.
I realize as we approach the doors that we’re totally overdressed, but Gabe doesn’t acknowledge it, so neither do I. His name is under Dan’s on the list of patrons by the ticket stand and I wonder how many other businesses and arts he supports, and whether he does it because he genuinely wants to offer his support, or if it’s publicity.
I don’t have the bad taste to ask though. I’m sure I’ll find out eventually anyway. He’s apparently a season pass holder—surprise, surprise—and a young man in his early twenties kisses our asses as he shows us to our seats. We get a lot of looks from other theater-goers, dressed mostly in jeans or slacks. We’re the only idiots dressed like we’re going to a ball. But fuck it. I’m ecstatic.
There’s no one sitting on either side of us, and we have a little more room than most people. I try not to feel bad about that. When the curtain rises and the first of the actors come on stage, I focus my attention.
“This is a local playwright, local actors, and local crew,” Gabe whispers.
“That’s great,” I whisper back, hoping he’ll shut up.
The play is amazing. It’s about a man that falls in love with a woman with cancer, and their struggle to deal with impending loss. It doesn’t have action or a whole hell of a lot of intense drama, but it’s poignant and touching.
I’m pretty sure I see Gabe jerk himself awake a few times.
The girl dies at the end, and the curtain closes after a short monologue about love enduring death. It’s not too sappy, but is so fucking sad and sincere that half the people in the audience are probably contemplating suicide after watching it.
I love it.
I love every minute of it, and when it’s over, I’m the crazy lady wearing a ball gown for no apparent fucking reason that gives them a standing ovation.
Gabe slowly rises to his feet—probably shaking off his drowsiness—and gives me a dry smile as he joins me in applauding the actors taking their final bow.
We wait to leave until the theater is nearly empty, watching the crowd slowly shuffle out the doors. Most of them give us strange looks or lifted eyebrows on their way out, but I get a thumbs-up from one particularly enthusiastic little grey-haired lady who winks at me with a mischievous grin. When it’s mostly cleared out, he offers me his arm and I take it, a little flustered at the gentlemanly gesture. I shouldn’t be though…he’s usually a gentleman.
The driver has the limo parked at the curb directly in front of the door, fucking up traffic left and right. He either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice, because he just stands there with the door open, a bored expression on his face. Gabe holds my hand as I climb in and folds himself in directly behind me.
He’s so big, so…God, I don’t know. Intimidating? Overwhelming? I don’t know the word for it, but the presence he exudes is the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. I don’t know how women walking by him manage to not jump him and tear their clothes off. Hell, I don’t know how I manage. Especially with that tux on. I just want to bite him.
I eyeball him, the black of the tux and his hair blending and making the silver streaks and bright white of the shirt stand out, which makes his skin darker.
Fuck. Being wet with no panties, wearing a silky dress is probably hazardous.
He looks over at me with a little half-smile and says, “We’re going to The Dock to eat. Is that all right?”
“I’d rather eat in the limo,” I murmur before I can manage to stop myself. The thought just falls right out. He tenses a little and I lose control of my eyes…they just zero in on his lap without me intending on it. His pants seem to be getting tighter in the groin region. Gee, that’s too bad.
I—or my hand, without asking my permission—reach out and trail a fingertip across the bulge. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and his cock jerks beneath my hand and stiffens further.
“Do you enjoy leaving me with blue balls?”
I pull my hand away and look up at him thoughtfully. Actually…yes, I do. It’s mildly surprising, but the more I turn the thought over in my mind, the more I like it. Gabe hard and aching, wishing he could come, thinking about me and touching himself…Holy fuck, it’s getting hot in here. I nod slowly. “Yes, I do. I want you to want me past the point of sanity.” And that’s true. I’ve never been wanted the way he wants me, and I still need more.
He shifts, turning to face me, and cups my cheek in his palm. God, I love that. His eyes are bright with desire when he whispers, “Luna, I’m obsessed with you. You don’t have to tease me to accomplish that.”
Well that’s good to know. Satisfying because I know I’m on his mind as much as he’s on mine and he feels the same intense desire I do. But also disappointing because he’s not obsessed enough to kiss me. My sexual buzz dies instantly and I can’t help it…I pull away and turn my face away so I can get control of my emotions before he can see. Because it hurts, god dammit. Every time I think about it, it hurts that he’s still keeping something so small from me. I understand it’s a big deal to him, even though I can’t understand why. Yeah, yeah, the whole “I want to be in love” thing is fine. But for fuck sake, he’s not a sixteen-year-old girl that took a vow of chastity. He’s a grown man.
“Tell me what to do next, Luna.” The words are barely audible, and I jerk my head around to look at him.
His hands are folded in his lap and he’s staring at them, his brows lowered over his eyes in a frown.
I close my eyes, the lingering bittersweet emotions from the play drifting away with annoyance with my own neediness and his quiet, out-of-nowhere demand. I purse my lips and turn away again to stare out the window. It’s hard to look at him and fight back the confusion over the sudden change in mood enough to answer. I know what he’s asking. He wants me to tell him how to proceed with me, to determine what our next step will be. The whole day has been about me, pampering me, and treating me…with dinner the only thing between us and the end of the evening, I should have known he’d want to talk about my new attitude and what it means for “us.”
But the thing is…I don’t know. It shouldn’t make a big difference in where we’re going, if anywhere. And should it really be up to me? Shouldn’t he be the one calling the shots? He’s the one with the hang-ups about kissing, for Christ’s sake. It’s been such a fun, wonderful day, and now he’s going to ruin it and make me think about things that bother me.
“Luna.” The way his lips form my name comes to mind and my stomach flutters. I don’t need to see it. I know how it looks…the slight pucker to form the L and u, the way they almost come together for the n, and then separate again for the a. Gabe saying my name looks like a kiss.
Which is ironic, since he won’t give me one.
/> “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, shrugging and looking back at him.
He’s staring at me, poking at my soul with those incredible eyes. He nods once and looks straight ahead. His lips part, and he changes his mind about whatever he was going to say. Then he changes his mind again, his tongue darting out to moisten his mouth nervously, and he says, “I need you to take the reins, here. Because if I do…” He takes a deep breath and finishes, “If I do, then you’ll be spending the night with me, and there will be a hell of a lot more going on than last time.”
I just stare at him, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far. Letting him pay for my spa day, wearing sexy clothes, and going on a really nice date with him, the hot session in the limo before the play…all these are things that lead to sex.
Then again…they’re all things that lead to kissing, too, but nobody’s puckered up yet besides me.
Basically what he’s telling me is that unless I take the lead, he’s putting sex on the ballot. He still hasn’t looked at me again, is just staring straight ahead at the seat across from us. And that pisses me off. Because this was a perfect day, and an almost perfect evening, and he’s going to ruin it, but all he can do is fucking stare off into the distance while basically forcing me to figure out our next step by myself.
Fuck it, then. If I’m going to be in the lead, I’m putting kissing back on the god damned ballot too.
I move quickly—before I have a chance to chicken out—err, change my mind—and pull my dress up until I can straddle his lap.
His hands immediately settle on my hips and he starts, “What…”
“Shut up.” He doesn’t get to put me in charge and still run the show. His mouth snaps closed and his eyes get a wild look in them that stirs something in me…something primitive and savage. I lean closer until my breasts are against his chest, his rapidly hardening cock is wedged against my bare mound, and his hands are so tight on my hips that I think they might bruise. “We can skip dinner and go to your house right now,” I whisper, my lips against his cheek. He shudders and a deep growl rumbles from his chest as his hips roll into mine. I smile. Good.
New Luna fucking rocks.
“All you have to do is one…” I kiss his cheek. “…itty…” A kiss next to his nose. “…bitty…” One last kiss on the corner of his lips. “…thing.” I brush my lips against his softly, the way he does to me when I know he wants to kiss me but is holding back. His lips part slightly and a shaky breath feathers over my mouth. “Come on, Gabe,” I urge. I hope my voice sounds half as sexy as I’m trying to make it. I’m going for Marilyn Monroe, but it might be coming out as a twenty-year smoker. Gabe seems to like it though, judging by the way he’s breathing faster, his eyes are squeezed closed, and his hands are flexing on my hips.
“Just one little kiss,” I breathe against his lips and he groans.
“Luna…” He gulps and opens his eyes. “Anything else, baby. Ask me for anything else and I’ll give it to you. But not this. Not yet.”
The little spark of irritation I felt when he first asked me what’s next bursts into a full, blazing inferno. I’m going to call it anger, though deep down I know it’s not. It stings that he’s not in love with me or at least close enough to kiss me. Obsessed, but not in love. What kind of bullshit is that? It doesn’t matter that I’m not completely in love with him—though it’s a slippery slope I’m rocketing down at light speed—or that he’s being honest. I don’t know if it hurts because I want him to fall first, or if it’s because I’m so close to the edge. But letting him know that it hurts isn’t acceptable, so I have to show it as anger. He’d interpret my hurt feelings more correctly than I’m capable of and then…well, I don’t know. It hurts, it pisses me off, it impresses me…
I grip the sides of his head and grind out, “Don’t move.” He just blinks at me and I look at him, so many different, confusing emotions tumbling through my chest that I can’t even separate them anymore.
“Luna,” he whispers, his voice strained.
I shake my head. “Shhh.”
Mobile meanders by outside the darkened windows of the limousine, the lights of buildings on one side and the blur of cars on the other. The world passes us by, oblivious to the fact that I’m sitting astride the sexiest man alive, with no underwear on, his cock riding against me, my lips brushing his, my breasts pressed against his chest. No one can see us through the tint, and the privacy window is blocking the driver’s view. But there’s still an almost-public feel to what we’re doing, and that sends a thrum of excitement shooting through me.
I want him. I want to tear open the front of his pants and sink down onto him slowly…see if I can make him lose control the way he did in the hotel room; see if he has the control to let me do what he’s hinting at: take the reins. But if he won’t compromise on the kiss, I won’t compromise on the sex.
I pull away, sliding off his lap and back into my seat, letting my leg trail over his lap and rub against the ridge in his pants. He inhales sharply and adjusts himself with a wince. He shoots me a glance and in that single look I realize something that has not occurred to me until just now…I’ve got him by the balls.
Obsession…maybe. But men give up before now if all they want is a piece of ass, and booty calls don’t get treated to spa days.
The realization is startling, and it’s hard to hide my reaction…shock, elation, hesitance. I don’t know what to do with the knowledge, though my initial instinct is to climb back on his lap, shove my tongue down his throat and his cock in my pussy.
But I don’t, I can’t. Instead, I stare straight ahead and hold my tongue. From the corner of my eye I notice that we’re nearing the restaurant, and I’m a little sorry and a little glad at the same time. I can focus on the food, instead of Gabe. But I’ll have to focus on food…not Gabe.
New Luna might rock…but she’s also fucking confused.
I barely turn my head to look out the window, waiting for the restaurant to come into view, avoiding finishing what we started. I’ve never been there, though it’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to try. It’s on the upper end of pricey, which has kept me away. Down by the water, shoved between two shipping companies, it’s not the type of place that someone would assume was as high class as it actually is. From the outside it looks like a dump. Inside it sparkles with sophistication and refinement. I’ve heard, anyway. Not like I’ve ever had the money for a forty-dollar salad.
I take a deep breath and try to slow my racing heart. I want to restore the easy enjoyment that’s been humming through me all day, but I’m too on edge now. Too turned on and too irritated by Gabe’s insistence that I take the lead.
“I just want to get this right, Luna. I can’t fuck this up with you.” I hear him shift in the seat and he rasps, “I don’t want to lose you.” His low voice whispers through the air like silk and I close my eyes. It’s the voice…the sex-at-midnight scratchy baritone that never fails to make me shudder. Especially since I know it’s how he sounds when he’s lost in pleasure, in me. And that voice essentially admitting that he’s worried about losing me…I don’t know what to think.
It rouses an instinct in me to protect him, to cradle him against my breast and never let anything hurt him.
And how fucking ridiculous is that? He could crush me with one arm, has been the guide, the protector in our relationship thus far, and my little Mommy instinct wants to flip that around now and protect him. But then…there’s also the instinct to fuck his brains out, which is understandable. I mean, god damn…the man’s sexy.
We’re both silent as the limo hums through traffic, the only sound the low whir of the air conditioner. There’s a tension between us now that hasn’t been there before, even though I’m pretty sure it’s mostly on my part. He threw me off balance with the demand that I take control, and I tipped myself over an invisible edge when I took the bait.
His words from our weekend at his beach house whisper through my memory: “Sometimes you need to be the
one in control.” Is he trying to tell me that what he needs right now is for me to be the one leading? And why now? Is it because he can’t or won’t continue as we have been?
And more importantly…why the hell am I wondering these things when I could just ask him and find out? I glance over at him. His legs are stretched out in front of him and he’s resting his head against the back of the seat with his eyes closed. I let my gaze wander down his chest and abdomen to his lap. The bulge is still present, but not as prominent. He’s managed to calm himself down with deep breaths and silence. It’s satisfying that he’s still hard and struggling to get it under control, and I clench my legs together against the urge to give in and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. But giving in before he does would give him an advantage, might give away the burgeoning emotions that I’m not ready to show. So I focus instead on how irritated I am by his insistence that I take control before he loses it.
“Gabe.”
He jumps a little and lifts his head to look at me.
“What, exactly, do you want me to do?”
His mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. He snaps it closed with a click and looks away again. His jaw works as he grinds his teeth together. Finally, teeth clenched, he responds, “I want you to tell me what you need, what I can do for you. Because until today you refused everything. Whatever brought this change on…good. I’m glad for it. But I’m confused as fuck, Luna. So…” He holds his hands up in surrender and finishes, “…you tell me where to go and what to do.”
Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. I just kind of figured it was only about sex. This is why it’s good to ask…so I don’t assume he’s a dick that’s trying to pressure me into sleeping with him in a roundabout way. I should have known a man wouldn’t understand how a woman can reach a breaking point and have a defining moment that turns everything around. Men don’t really do that. I don’t think they do, anyway. At least I’ve never seen it happen. Women though…there comes a point where we’re just fed up beyond all tolerance. When that happens, the change can be immediate. Wish I’d done it years ago…had a breakdown and broken free of Corey, saved myself instead of waiting for him to get better or get tired of me.
Luna Exposed Page 25