Free In the Mix by Jacquelyn Ayres Page B

Yes, I’m panting like a dog in heat. Wouldn’t you be? His breath hits my neck hot and slow.
    Lord, help me.
    His lips move up to my ear, “All day—everyday—you’re there, in my head. I can’t get you out. You consume me. I keep trying. Christ, I try like hell to push you out, shake you off. I can’t. I see your eyes. I feel your mouth on mine.” His lips skirt down my neck. I close my eyes, relishing in his touch. I place my hands on top of his, guiding them to explore my belly and up my torso. I lean my head back, giving him more access to my neck as I listen to his words. “I breathe the rapid breaths you breathe those moments you let your guard down. I can’t stand the power you have over me. I hate it. I hate how much I fucking love it. I want you. I want you like . . . actually, I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.” He buries his face into the crook of my neck. His hands stop moving. I’m not going to lie—I’m disappointed. They’re parked just under my girls.
    My girls want to play “Tug, tug, rub and roll.”
    What the fuck?
    “Kyle,” I breathe, “Don’t stop.” I try to nudge his hands along.
    “You want me to touch you?” he asks, his mouth back at my ear—breaths matching mine.
    “Yes.”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “No.”
    I push his hands off me and grab the sponge, pouring a ridiculous amount of dish soap on it. I’m going to do these damn dishes and I’m going to try my hardest not to stab him with one of these knives for making me feel like an asshole.
    “I want to touch you.” He slides his hands back on to my hips. His chest presses into my back, giving me no space to turn if I wanted to. “But,” he continues, “If I touch you, I won’t be able to stop until you’re screaming my name while your legs are shaking around my hips.” Is it a little wet in here or is it just me . . . and my panties?
    I bet he’d give me good leg shake.
    Also, I may have just whimpered . . . slightly.
    “I’m going to go.” He pats my hip.
    “Go? What?!” I turn around the moment he backs off.
    “I can’t stay, Ceese.” He shakes his head. “If I stay, then I will end up making love to you.” Running his hand through his hair, he looks everywhere but at me directly.
    “Why is that such a bad thing?” I barely recognize the vulnerability in my own voice.
    “It wouldn’t be except for the way I know you will behave afterwards.”
    “The way I’ll behave?” I knit my brows together.
    “Aww c’mon, CiCi!” He raises his voice and paces, seemingly frustrated. “You will go right back to your usual “all walls up, I don’t need anyone” self. You’ll make comments about it being nothing, that you just needed to get your rocks off and I happened to be there! You’ll push me away and goddamn it, I know it will destroy me,” he lowers his voice for that last part of his speech.
    I take a few steps towards him and hold up my pinky. “I promise that I won’t do that.”
    “Really, Ceese? You think I’m gonna put my trust in a pinky-promise that you will be a good girl after we make love?” he asks, staring down into my eyes, once I make it into his personal space.
    “How about a pinky-promise that I’ll be a good girl while we’re making love?” I breathe as I toe-up and brush my lips against his. He growls lowly before attacking my mouth in a viciously delicious manner.
    “CiCi,” he murmurs against my lips.
    “Yes?”
    “You want to get rid of that soapy sponge now? You’re soaking the back of my shirt with it.” He does his smirkish smile while pulling my arm that is encircled around his neck down—soapy sponge gripped tightly in my hand.
    “Sorry.” I whisper giggle. Yes “whisper giggle” is a real thing! It’s when you laugh through your nose without any sound—just rapid breaths, mimicking a giggle: whisper giggle. Got it? Now stop distracting me; that’s Kyle’s job. Mmm . . . Kyle. I toss the sponge in its dish and rinse my hands. I