Free Tryst by Arie Lane Page A

awareness. I am so lost in my fantasies, I don't realize my hands are now wandering of their own free will, making their way to her breasts and cupping them while stroking across her nipples. I continue to kiss her as I feel the buds harden under my fingertips, pinching them and being rewarded with another small moan I capture between my own lips. I move my lips away from hers, giving her a chance to catch an ounce of breath while I lick my way across her neck, creating goose bumps each time I lightly nip at the skin. I suck on it lightly before moving to the next spot, slowly making my way to her collarbone.
    Her hands are still secure around my neck, and her thumbs are drawing small circles, letting me know she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. I reach the point where her perfume is most concentrated. And I go into sensory overdrive. Everything hits me at once. I feel the sweet taste of her mouth lingering on my lips, the slightly salty taste of her skin as she breaks out into a light sweat. I groan at the sounds of fucking bliss escaping her lips every time I explore another part of her body. The smell of her drives me to a point of fucking ecstasy, that light airy smell with a hint of citrus and spice. And the hooded fuck me eyes I'm sure she doesn't even realize she's sporting.
    Everything hits me at once, and I feel like my dick is about to explode right here in my pants. I swear if she brushes up against my dick one more time I'm done for. The friction is exquisite, but the idea of blowing my load in my pants doesn't really fucking please me. I push away from her and her hands fall to her side, a look of confusion and hurt marring her eyes. Before I can even think about what’s happening, I ask where her bathroom is and take off down the hall. As much as I would love to stay there and play the “it's not you, it's me” game, my balls are feeling a need for instant gratification.

Chapter 6
     
    Bentley
     
    I watch in abject humiliation as Tristan practically runs from me to the bathroom. Thinking back, I can't recall any other time I have ever sent a man literally running for cover. As my mind runs amuck with images of my perfectly clandestine bathroom being defiled, I can't help but laugh. The images clouding my mind are wildly inappropriate.
    The words duck and cup come to mind as I recall Dante taking quite a few cock shots while training me. Poor guy never did remember to wear protection while he was with me. Either way, that shade of blue that always came across Dante's face when he forgot to cup was quite similar to that of the pretty boy hiding in my bathroom.
    I figure there is nothing I can do but wait, which would be just fine except for the rumbling in my stomach. A sudden need for some cheesy, greasy, authentic pizza sounds about perfect, and it just happens to be a need I know my favorite pizzeria can fulfill. As I call and begin to place my order, I miss hearing Tristan’s footsteps behind me. As his hands wrap around my stomach I seize and let out a small, ear piercing scream while dropping the phone to the counter.
    After several deep breaths and a mental lashing, I bring the phone back to my ear. I catch a much panicked John asking if I'm ok, begging me to answer. I laugh nervously as I lie and tell him a very hairy, rather large spider just darted across my floor. John, who also happens to be my neighbor, has played my knight in shining armor on several occasions by coming to rescue me from some terrifying eight-legged monstrosity. His laughter puts me at ease. He knows all too well how the creepy crawlies reduce me to nothing more than a shrieking banshee that would likely torch my home to smithereens if the offending hee-bee gee-bee isn’t eradicated. Assuring him I don't need his assistance, I finish placing my order and hang up. I know I owe Tristan an explanation, at the very least. But how does one explain an irrational fear?
    It was drilled into my head in that courtroom that my