Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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I shake my head and close the door into the bathroom behind me. His parting words on Wednesday morning were behind my spending an hour trying to decide what to pack in my overnight bag. My usual comfy PJs? We are not that comfortable with each other. And I want to seduce him, not lull him to sleep. The sexiest sleepwear items I own are a short lacy nightgown and sporty booty lounge shorts with a low-cut t-shirt. Both are revealing and short. Both seemed like a perfect pick when I put them into my beg. They still do. The shower washed away some of my fatigue. I let my hair down and I wrap a fluffy white towel around my boobs and tuck the end in, to hold it in place and stare at my clothes. I have to pick one. Dammit. How hard is it to choose one?
"Are you doing ok in there?" Ben asks from behind the door. "It's been fifteen minutes since you've turned off the shower. Do you need anything?"
"No. Or maybe yes. No, it's a no."
"Should I come in?"
I sigh. "OK."
Ben opens the door, takes one step into the bathroom, and stops.
"What seems to be the problem?" His eyes assess the clothes on the floor by my feet. "DMD again?"
"Yep."
He steps closer and examines the two options.
"The gown." His voice is sharp and resolute. Making choices looks effortless when he does it. "It's easier access." I'm not going to contradict that. He's thinking about access to my body. I shiver.
He picks up the gown and is about to hand it over when he looks up and sees me. His eyes scan the mess of my curls over my damp shoulders, the hollow under my throat, the top of my chest, the towel that loosened up and is sliding a little on the left. His eyes don't move any lower.
"Or this towel is also a good option." He drops the gown on the floor, and the kissing game resumes. His fully-clothed body presses against mine. My hesitation about what to wear or not to wear extends to my garments, but not to Ben's. His needs to come off. If we were to play strip poker right now, I'd lose instantly, and I need to level the playing field.
Removing his t-shirt is a piece of cake. The elastic waistband on his athletic pants is convenient for clothes removal as well. I tug it down and he pulls them all the way off. He has his boxer briefs on, and I am still wearing a towel. We're on equal ground. I hesitate, remembering how my impatience spoiled it for him last time.
But Ben's not pushing me away or stopping me. Rather, one of Ben's hands sneaks under my towel. That's way more than I was hoping would happen today, but I'm not complaining. I need some relief that's not done by my own hand. His creeps up the back of my leg to where my underwear would ordinarily stop it. I freeze in anticipation.
His lips move down to my neck, my clavicle, the valley between my breasts, where the towel impedes any downward progress. I want the damn thing off, but I let him figure it out. It's his speed I'm following today. Ben's lips retrace their way back up my neck. All my attention is at the path his lips are recharting up to my mouth. I'd rather they move down and explore my chest. His lips are back on mine. I'm into it, I'm tingling in all the right places, but I'm also distracted. I'm thinking. What's his next move? Why am I not doing anything? Should I undo my towel?
