Amber let out a grunt as Eric rolled her against the lockers; damn it, he could only do that because he was stronger. Stupid relative muscle capability according to gender. But it turned her on too, Eric's physical rebelliousness, and she was ready for more. More kissing, more shoving, more of him proving that he wouldn't go anywhere, at least not as long as he was hot for her.
But he went for her wrists. Amber flinched, stiffened. Breath went shallow. Trapped. She wanted him to fight back, but not like this. Fuck he really was strong. By gut instinct Amber strained, pulling her wrists up and away. He was only doing what she'd egged him on to do, get aggressive. But she turned from his mouth. Not like this.
The hold was temporary. Before she could say anything, he let her wrists go. Oxygen worked again. "Not my wrists," Amber gasped. Knew it hadn't been intentional, but, fuck, she didn't want that happening again. Damn it, it'd feel so delicious otherwise, clamped between his thighs. How could one hold be wonderful and the other terrible? "Didn't feel good," was all she could give in explanation, because Amber didn't understand herself.
The fact that he was apologizing streamed in through her distress. Again. It wasn't what she wanted. Didn't mean anything.
Despite her split-second panic, though, Amber was calming down. Easy to, given the tenderness of Eric’s light touch over her hips. And she needed to be pacified, that made her more receptive. The fact that he was trying to explain himself (not just apologize) and that the hold hadn't lasted, filled Amber with affection. Head throbbed with it. Again she acted without thinking, lifting her hands to cup his face. "I never know what you're thinking," she said, gazing at him. Amber loved his face. Loved learning what his expressions meant. This one hurt a little, vulnerable, but tender, too. "I keep imaging what you could be thinking, and-- you've gotta tell me, Eric. Though--" Amber laughed weakly. "Talking's never seemed to help us much."
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But he went for her wrists. Amber flinched, stiffened. Breath went shallow. Trapped. She wanted him to fight back, but not like this. Fuck he really was strong. By gut instinct Amber strained, pulling her wrists up and away. He was only doing what she'd egged him on to do, get aggressive. But she turned from his mouth. Not like this.
The hold was temporary. Before she could say anything, he let her wrists go. Oxygen worked again. "Not my wrists," Amber gasped. Knew it hadn't been intentional, but, fuck, she didn't want that happening again. Damn it, it'd feel so delicious otherwise, clamped between his thighs. How could one hold be wonderful and the other terrible? "Didn't feel good," was all she could give in explanation, because Amber didn't understand herself.
The fact that he was apologizing streamed in through her distress. Again. It wasn't what she wanted. Didn't mean anything.
Despite her split-second panic, though, Amber was calming down. Easy to, given the tenderness of Eric’s light touch over her hips. And she needed to be pacified, that made her more receptive. The fact that he was trying to explain himself (not just apologize) and that the hold hadn't lasted, filled Amber with affection. Head throbbed with it. Again she acted without thinking, lifting her hands to cup his face. "I never know what you're thinking," she said, gazing at him. Amber loved his face. Loved learning what his expressions meant. This one hurt a little, vulnerable, but tender, too. "I keep imaging what you could be thinking, and-- you've gotta tell me, Eric. Though--" Amber laughed weakly. "Talking's never seemed to help us much."