Frowning lightly, Foreman studied Amber, hovering above him and watching him just as closely. Now that he wasn't thinking that he'd made a mistake, he wanted to know why she'd pulled away. The hectic colour in her cheeks had deepened, and her eyes were dark, the blue overwhelmed by her dilated pupils. Her body slipped over his easily, the friction smoothed by her sweat and his. She was still breathing quickly. Foreman could see the tick of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Everything about her screamed that she'd been aroused. Every sound she'd made, every twitch of her muscles, the way she'd blindly sought him out and pushed towards him, her thighs clenching against his head, they were all signals that he'd been doing everything right. And yet she'd asked him--begged him, really: no matter what Amber might have thought, she hadn't been in control when she'd cried out--for him to stop.
And it seemed like practically a revelation to her, as well, the idea that he could tell her to stop, if he wanted to. When he'd let her fingerfuck him, she'd promised--easily, too easily, he'd thought so even at the time--that she'd stop if he asked. But she'd assumed he wouldn't. And tonight, when he'd felt too exposed in the restaurant, when he couldn't stand to come where anyone might see, she'd followed him anyway. Luckily, Foreman had felt more comfortable in the relative privacy of the bathroom, and it had been stunning, fucking her like that against the door. But she hadn't, not really, let him say no. She'd followed him. Kissed him angrily, in some sort of revenge for him leaving her at the table. Don't you dare, she'd said. Don't you dare run away.
Had someone...had there been a time when Amber couldn't say no? Or wouldn't let herself, even if she'd wanted to? Some fucking bastard of a boyfriend, or a stranger--Foreman swallowed down a sudden rush of anger. Now wasn't the time to bring it up. Restless, he sighed against Amber's hand, turned toward her palm cupping his face and kissed her hand, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't ask and maybe she'd never tell him. Maybe it was some wild guess and not true at all. Not his business. All he could do was tell her--show her--that it was all right, that she was safe with him. "Yeah," he said, nodding to the night table. He couldn't reach himself, with Amber draped over him. "In the drawer."
no subject
And it seemed like practically a revelation to her, as well, the idea that he could tell her to stop, if he wanted to. When he'd let her fingerfuck him, she'd promised--easily, too easily, he'd thought so even at the time--that she'd stop if he asked. But she'd assumed he wouldn't. And tonight, when he'd felt too exposed in the restaurant, when he couldn't stand to come where anyone might see, she'd followed him anyway. Luckily, Foreman had felt more comfortable in the relative privacy of the bathroom, and it had been stunning, fucking her like that against the door. But she hadn't, not really, let him say no. She'd followed him. Kissed him angrily, in some sort of revenge for him leaving her at the table. Don't you dare, she'd said. Don't you dare run away.
Had someone...had there been a time when Amber couldn't say no? Or wouldn't let herself, even if she'd wanted to? Some fucking bastard of a boyfriend, or a stranger--Foreman swallowed down a sudden rush of anger. Now wasn't the time to bring it up. Restless, he sighed against Amber's hand, turned toward her palm cupping his face and kissed her hand, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't ask and maybe she'd never tell him. Maybe it was some wild guess and not true at all. Not his business. All he could do was tell her--show her--that it was all right, that she was safe with him. "Yeah," he said, nodding to the night table. He couldn't reach himself, with Amber draped over him. "In the drawer."