I threw in the towel after forty five minutes of restless tossing and turning. I climbed out of bed, cautiously turned the doorknob and peered outside into the hallway’s darkness.
The glare from Matt’s flat-screen TV washed over his motionless body. I felt guilty, seeing him sprawled out on a couch that was way too small to accommodate his stature. My eyes remained glued to his exposed, chiseled upper body.
Even in peaceful sleep, he was a heartbreaker.
I opened the door wide enough to slip out with minimal noise. My dry throat called for a drink of water, so I crept into the kitchen and fumbled through his kitchen cabinets, looking for glasses. I turned on the tap and filled the cup, drinking it where I stood.
“How you holdin’ up?”
I jumped, horrified when my slippery hand let go of the glass cup. It hit the floor and shattered, shards scattering across the tiled floor.
I looked at Matt and silently asked for forgiveness.
“Don’t worry,” he assured, swept up the broken glass and deposited the contents in the trash.
“I’m so sorry,” I heaved a weary sigh. “I’m just wound so tight. My nerves are on pins and needles, thinking about everything. I feel like my brain’s being stretched like taffy.”
Matt took a step forward and put his hands on my shoulders. “So stop doin’ so much thinkin’ and just feel for a while. Trust me; I know what it’s like to have your mind work against you. It’s difficult, but not impossible to separate one from the other.”
I’m not quite sure what broke the hardened shell of my timidity. It could have been the simplistic profoundness of Matt’s advice, but I’m more inclined to believe it was the stunning, half-naked man with baby blue eyes and disheveled, messy blonde hair trying to console me.
Simone, the reserved schoolteacher who analyzed every little thing to death, finally shut down her mind to listen to her neglected physical desires.
I covered his large palms with my own and watched his crystalline irises sharpen in surprise as I gripped his wrists, sliding them over my shoulders, across my clothed, full breasts, and let them settle on the pronounced curves of my hips. My lips trembled, adrenaline kicking into high gear. I was breathing erratically, waiting for some kind of response.
Matt took his time studying me, swallowed and tilted his head in contemplation. My body sparked with wanton desire when he leaned low and firmly gripped my hips, murmuring in my ear:
“Is this what you want to feel, Simone?”
“Yes,” I said, looking down at my feet and briefly second-guessing myself.
He cupped my chin and forced me to look in his eyes, shaking his head, unconvinced.
“I need you to be sure,” he pressed.
“I’m sure,” I said with conviction. My panties were dampening by the second, and I was aching to tear them off and let Matt give my attention-starved sex all it could handle.
I expected him to turn alpha-male, rip my hideous pajamas right in two – not that I would have minded – throw me over his shoulder and take me as he pleased.
Instead, his steady, careful fingers took its sweet time bunching the hem of my shirt, and he tenderly kissed my cheek. I whimpered, raised my arms and trembled when he removed the garment. He lowered to one knee, hooked his fingers on both sides of my pants and panties, and painstakingly peeled them down my thick, long legs.
To be continued....
He Doesn't Know I'm Black Page 3
