by T Gephart
If he’d only known what I’d been doing when my legs gave way I was sure his reaction would have been different. But I kept my mouth shut, my knee actually hurt as the endorphins from the orgasm evaporated.
“Can you move? Did you hit your head? Shit, do you have a concussion?” His questions fired at me as his arms went around my body. “Can I lift you? You didn’t hit your back right? I don’t want to make you a paraplegic because I moved you if you severed your spine or something.”
I laughed, unable to stop myself even though his concern was both heartfelt and endearing. “No concussion and my back isn’t broken I promise. I’m just an idiot,” no truer words ever spoken, “and fell.”
His arms engulfed me, my back pressing against his strong capable chest. At least I could no longer see those menacing nipples while he was behind me, that was about the only positive I could find as I felt his muscles flexing
“Jesus Christ,” he huffed. “No wonder you fell, you are completely covered in goo. It’s like a seal jacked off on you.”
I laughed even harder, at both the silliness of his words and the irony behind them. “It’s body lotion, I was trying to moisturize.”
“Babe, I think we could grease the cylinders of my Corvette with what’s covering your body. Maybe use a little less next time, pretty sure that isn’t recommended use.” His strong arms pulled me to my feet, keeping me steady as he turned me to face him. “Anything hurt?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
Or at least I would be.
He kept his arms around me, seeming to be unsure of whether or not I was going to fall again. I didn’t want to point out that the excessive lotion wasn’t responsible as I allowed him to keep me steady. Plus, I liked his hands on me, liked the way they felt. Hugging was allowed, we hugged all the time, so what we were doing was well within the rules of getting to know each other better.
“You need help getting dressed?” he asked, his eyes dipping to my cleavage. Ironically the question not accompanied by the cheeky smirk.
I couldn’t remember the last time Dallas looked at my breasts and didn’t at least allude to the fact he wanted to touch them. In fact, I didn’t think it had ever happened. It surprised me, catching me off guard as I hitched up the towel a little higher annoyed with myself that I was disappointed.
And for the millionth time in the last hour I asked, what the hell was wrong with me?
“No, I think I can manage. Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be right out.” I forced an empty smile still wondering why I was feeling weird. I should be grateful he wasn’t making it uncomfortable or using the situation of being almost naked to his advantage.
It was what I’d wanted.
Or at least what I had thought I wanted.
He slowly released his hands, drawing them back with hesitation. “Okay, yell out if you need me.” He took a step back, testing my ability to stand on my own feet before edging toward to door. “I’m literally just out there.” He thumbed over his shoulder reassuring me he wasn’t far.
I nodded, doing some reassuring of my own that my battle with gravity was over and I’d have no further issues with remaining upright. And I assumed he’d believed me until he left the bathroom but didn’t pull the door all the way shut. The edge had been left ajar so all that would be required would be a push and it would swing open.
Ignoring the door, my feelings and the confusion that had taken up residency in my mind, I turned my attention to my body. Not in the same way I had before—I wasn’t a complete masochist—instead using the towel to wipe off the excess lotion and make myself presentable. I quickly pulled on my sleep shirt again and a clean pair of panties, not bothering to check out my reflection in the mirror as I switched off the light and left the room.
Dallas was already in bed, the side he’d occupied the night before filled with his delicious body while my side was awaiting me. And this time around there was no pillow wall, the decorative squares and rectangles piled sort of neatly onto a chair I kept in the corner. I could tell he’d tried.
His eyes followed me as I slid under the covers, ignoring the television entirely. “I’m fine, Dallas, honestly. I’m just a klutz,” I lied, tempting fate by scooting closer to him.
If he was worried about being next to me he didn’t show it, stretching out his arm and giving me more room. I decided that I’d take whatever inches I could—even if they weren’t the ones I’d been thinking of—settling against his body in a warm snuggle.
“What did you choose?” My attention turned to the screen, a cartoon playing in the background. “You put on the Disney channel?”
Granted the chances of us getting down and dirty were greatly reduced while there was a kid’s show in the background—I wasn’t a complete degenerate. But I thought we could watch something a little closer to our demographic. Maybe a comedy? Or an action movie? Something that involved a lot of blood and guts perhaps? Nothing sexy about seeing someone’s brains smeared on a highway.
“It’s The Lion King.” He tipped his had to the screen. “One of the last hand drawn Disney animations. While technology is awesome, giving us realistic almost lifelike pictures, they completely lack the warmth of the hand drawn stuff.”
Huh?
I turned my head, the confusion obviously showing on my face as I watched Simba prancing around singing about being unable to wait until he was king. The colors, the action, the flashes of activity spilled into each frame filling it completely.
“See, people had to sit there and draw every single cell by hand. There were no machines to do it for them. So while it meant that the result was less than perfect, it just feels different. Like a really good childhood memory or a warm hug. The skill these guys had is ridiculous, I mean, just fucking look? Every single time there is a slight change—a blink, a hair blowing in the breeze, a toe heading in the other direction—someone had to draw it.”
“I haven’t really looked at cartoons that way,” I admitted, giving the movie more of my attention. My eyes widened as I watched the characters running, jumping, laughing, singing with so many changes it would have taken thousands of drawings.
“Pretty fucking crazy, right?” He leaned his head against me. “Everyone thinks it would be a walk in the park—just a kids movie—but that is an insane level of skill. Sadly it’s becoming a lost art, all the animation now is being done on computers.”
I continued to watch, fascinated with my new insight. “Have you ever done it?”
“Animation? God, yeah. When I was six or seven all I wanted to do was leave school and work for Disney. It was literally my dream, to sit in a room and get paid to draw all day. But I soon found out that it didn’t work that way, and the idea of working on a computer makes my skin itch. Plus, you have to be really smart to do it. They make you go to college, and I couldn’t do that, so that wasn’t even an option.”
The confession was startling, never expecting to hear that the heavily tattooed and pierced guy that I was currently snuggling with harbored dreams of working for Disney. It seemed as unlikely as me saying I’d wanted to be a mechanic. And I hated getting my hands dirty.
“Why couldn’t you go to college? Was it a money thing?” I asked, realizing only after it had left my mouth that I had no business asking it. Hell, the last thing I wanted him to feel was that I was judging him. I didn’t care whether he went to college or not, he was far from stupid. “Hey, sorry. That was really rude, you don’t have to answer that.”
“Nah, it’s okay.” He chuckled, giving me a soft kiss on the top of my head as he pulled me closer. “I didn’t do great in school. Reading is really hard for me. I have to read something two or three times before it starts to make sense and in the end it’s just exhausting, so my brain shuts off. I hated it, made me angry that everything just seemed like a struggle. Soon, I just stopped trying and my grades reflected that. I mean, I wasn’t a drop out or anything, I graduated. But there wasn’t a chance I would sign up to do
it for four more years. Besides, in that time Josh and I were already inking each other in marker, and I suddenly found a new way to express myself. One that didn’t involve me torturing myself for years.”
I lifted my head, concerned about what he’d told me. “Dallas, have you ever been tested for dyslexia? Clearly you’re not stupid, and your trouble reading was probably something they could—and should—have helped you through.”
“Babe, it’s fine. I am literally living the dream. Well, the new dream.” He chuckled. “I get to go hang out every single day and be with my best friend. And as for the actual work, it’s sort of like being an old school animator. Every single piece I do is different. I get to change styles, and challenge myself—and what I do is on someone’s body for life. Think about it, some person liked what I drew so much they are willing to have it on their skin until they die. Screw reading, I’m a fucking God.” His eyes shone with pride and mischief.
“That is so cool,” I agreed, the need to overinflate his talent and skill level not needed despite the size of his ego. “I would let you tattoo me any day.”
“Really? I thought you preferred Josh?” He seemed surprised, scrunching his brow in confusion.
Josh was an amazing artist, which was the reason I’d sought him out to do the very large and detailed Birth of Venus that covered most of my back. I didn’t even know Dallas then, not meeting him until after I’d already made an appointment with Josh.
“I didn’t prefer Josh, I just knew of him,” I explained, the choice made out of nothing other than a recommendation. “He’d done a forearm piece for a friend of mine and I didn’t want someone I knew nothing about working on my back. But I would totally trust you to tattoo me. Actually, I think we should schedule a time and do it. I’ve been meaning to add more ink anyway, but you guys are always so busy that I never got around to making a booking. You think I can get preferential treatment since we’re getting to know each other?”
“Are you fucking kidding?” His eyes lit up, squeezing me tighter. “I would kill to work on you. I’d fucking love it. And just so you know, as good as the Botticelli is on your back, what I draw for you will be a million times better.”
While I didn’t doubt that he would give me a masterpiece, it was a pretty bold statement. Josh’s Botticelli was stunning; I couldn’t imagine anything better. I’d be happy with just as amazing, excited to see what Dallas would come up with. “Well let me know when you’re free and I’ll make the time. And the preferential treatment I’m asking for is just for the booking. I fully intend on paying you for it, I wasn’t trying to get a freebie.”
“Please, I’m not taking your money.” He rolled his eyes. “Firstly because I fully intend,” he threw my words back at me, shooting me a grin, “on enjoying every single second of it. And secondly, because Josh has this no sleeping with clients rule. And again, I fully intend on sleeping with you. So, yeah. You aren’t paying me.”
Back in the bathroom I’d assumed his lack of attention to my nakedness was out of loss of interest. Or because he’d decided that since we’d agreed to wait a month, he didn’t see any point in trying. Why waste the energy only to get turned down? I’m sure he had other outlets, and we had already decided that because it wasn’t a relationship he had no reason to be faithful. So it came as a surprise that he’d mention it, my body heating at the suggestion.
“Fine,” I conceded, resolving to find another way to pay him back. A gift worth a similar amount of money that he’d have no option but to accept. “I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our agreement. And for the record, I fully intend on sleeping with you too.” I admitted readily knowing fully the kind of fire I was playing with.
Disney movie or not, I couldn’t ignore the hot, muscular body of the man I was very much attracted to laying beside me.
“So here’s a question.” Dallas breathed out, his finger trailing down my arm. “Does making out count as getting to know each other?”
I swallowed, focusing on his lips. “Yeah, I think so. Our mouths would get to know each other better for sure.”
There had been no rules about not kissing. As far as I remembered, it was only sex that wasn’t allowed. People even kissed on first dates and even by that standard, we were at least on our second. Possibly even third.
“Well thank God for that.” His lips came crashing down on me, kissing me before either of us changed our mind.
I didn’t hesitate, giving my mouth to him with full commitment as he slid in his tongue and deepened the connection.
It was hot, and seductive, with the right amount of tease, toggling between deeply passionate and light and sexy. His lips and tongue testing how far they could go before backing off and giving me sweet. It was making me dizzy, my body hot and excited even though he kept his hands respectably away from anything that was sexual.
We’d kissed before—hot and heavy, leading us right to sex—but what we were doing was nothing like that first time. He was patient, not willing to rush it as he took his time exploring my mouth. The desperation was there but tempered, simmering slowly underneath as he ebbed and flowed, making me hotter even though he was barely touching me.
My body arched into his, my breast involuntarily rubbing against him as they sought more than what he was giving us. And suddenly I couldn’t remember why we weren’t ripping each other’s clothes off and screwing each other’s brains out. Who needed a month? We knew each other just fine, and whatever stupid data I was hoping to find wouldn’t even come close to how good he could make me feel right now.
He turned, his body opening to me as I hooked a leg onto his hip and brought myself even closer. He was hard, his cock grinding against my core as his hands stayed locked around me, not reaching for my breasts like I was sure he wanted to.
“I didn’t fall in the bathroom,” I admitted, losing my mind between the kisses and the feeling of his hard-on teasing my clit. “I was touching myself and my legs buckled when I came.” I breathed out the words in between the heated kissed.
“Fuck that’s so hot.” He groaned in appreciation. “I would totally have loved to watch.”
I twisted my hips, my sleep T-shirt riding up so the only barrier between us was my panties and his boxers. The friction of his hard-on and his piercing both maddening and delicious. “That’s what I imagined. You watching me while I did it and you jerking off with me.”
“Kitty.” He purred out my name so low and raw it almost made me come. “You’re driving me fucking crazy right now.”
I wasn’t an expert, but I was fairly sure that what we were doing no longer qualified as just kissing. Before I could think—and talk myself out of it—my hand slithered between us and breeched the waistband of his boxers. The head of his cock jerked as the tips of my fingers made contact, all five of them wrapping around his girth as I gave it a firm and decided tug.
If I’d been worried about crossing the line before, the question was no longer relevant.
“Tell me to stop,” I panted into his mouth, unable to stop my hand from sliding up and down his shaft as my body used his firmness and my hand to find its own pleasure.
“Are you fucking crazy?” he panted back, his tone completely devoid of its usual cockiness. “Your hand is on my dick and it feels amazing, why the hell would I do that?”
“Because we’re supposed to wait.” I kissed him, unable to stop. “Talking.” His lips owned mine. “Other stuff.” The rest of the sentence lost with the possibility of never being spoken. And who gave a shit any way, I was positive it wasn’t even as close to being as important as what we were doing at the moment.
A primal rumble traveled up his throat as his hands moved to my ass.
“Screw the agreement.”
Dallas
I’D CHOSEN THE LION KING FOR TWO reasons.
One, the animation was freaking spectacular, and I genuinely enjoyed watching the work.
And two, other than some pretty obvious sexual tension between S
imba and Nala, there wasn’t any danger of me getting any more turned on.
I say more because I’d been rocking a semi since finding Kitty on the floor in the bathroom wearing not much more than a towel. Never had I been so glad for an accident—and equally glad she hadn’t hurt herself—making me able to focus on something other than those fantastic boobs poking out from the top.
If I’d swung open the door and found her standing there and well, I’m not sure I would have been able to stop myself. Even though all the good bits were tucked away, the suggestion enough to test my resolve.
But the thing about my resolve was that it wasn’t very strong in the first place, deciding that kissing her should be my next move. Not because I was hoping it would turn into sex—I’d already made my peace that wasn’t going to happen—but because Jesus Christ, I really wanted to.
And trust me, I really freaking tried to be good.
My hands stayed out of bounds, keeping decent while my mouth did no such thing. But then her fingers decided to wander and all bets were off.
Jesus, it felt good. Her hand tight and rough, locked around me as it jerked me off. Then she asked me to stop her like she thought I was capable of being rational.
Not. A. Chance. In. Hell.
Even a rational person wouldn’t have been able to, because last time I checked super strength wasn’t a real thing. That wasn’t even taking into account what she’d told me just before the hand job, the reason she’d been on the floor in the first place.
If there’d been any blood left in my head when we’d started kissing, it had flowed right to my cock at the mention of her touching herself. I was lucky I didn’t pass the hell out, the idea of her doing that while I waited in bed watching Mufasa was so hot I was positive it broke some kind of federal pornography law.
It wasn’t fucking decent, that was for damn sure. But as her hand slid up and down my dick, I was more than willing to serve any jail time.
