I failed to see why every time, and there were many, many times I tell you, we got to the good part, Jesse unfailingly yanked on the ever chivalrous reigns he had around his primal instincts. I mean the windows were still fogged from all the heavy breathing I'd been doing in the quarter hour late-night-front-seat-of-my-car make out we'd just indulged in, but Jesse was already gone.
Every time I saw him, the guy made my heart feel like it had to leave the confines of my chest immediately. I couldn't think properly, my palms almost surely got sweaty, and my normally sorted-out and peacefully co-existing thoughts got thrown into a tizzy till my head blanked out. All this, and there was Jesse, permanently all practical and ready to stomp on the brakes he seemed to have reserved specially for our heady passion.
It was his fault. That I was ready to jump his bones at the first lapse in his brilliantly steadfast self-control, was all his fault. Take, for instance, tonight. We started kissing on what seemed a perfectly sweet and controlled note, when he started to trail his hands down my overly-sensitive spine. He knows how I get when he does that, but he never learns! Just thinking about it makes me shudder almost identically to then. Damn those fingertips of his! Then, to top it all off, he slowly, and I don't know whether consciously or not, he cupped my waist with those beautifully large, tendony hands off his and snaked into my (purposefully) spacious top. I was quivering, I was enjoying it so much, and I couldn't think straight at all. I tried to concentrate on the amazingly bright light that shone somewhere inside me and how it seemed to grow with every drawn, leisurely movement of his lips till it seemed to consume every cognitive ability. That was another thing about him that drove me straight beyond crazy, the way he made it seem like making out with me was the best thing in the world. With every slight indrawn breath, every lustful look he'd give me, my whole body would seem like on fire and I wanted to take it further. I'd shove my hands in his hair and stare into his sublime eyes and notch it higher, and at times, like tonight he'd willingly go with me. I pressed up against him, undulating, and felt the heat that pulsed through him, forgetting that this was usually where his inner alarm went off, signaling the end of our time together. Mumbling apologies I'd heard scores of times before, he pressed a chaste kiss on my forehead and before I knew it, was gone. I groaned aloud, reliving the disappointment and frustration.
I needed to get him to relent! This was crazy! It's the 21st century for crying out loud. How long can it go on like this?