I lied.
33.
I should get up.
Leave.
Report him to HR.
But I'm so curious.
"Not with your…" I don't give him the satisfaction of hearing me say cock. "Then what?" Obviously, I can fill in the blank myself. For some reason, I want to hear him say it.
"My mouth. My fingers while I used my mouth."
"Oh."
My mouth is a little "O" of intrigue.
I'm incredibly turned on. I shift in my seat, thighs pressing, craving friction. He watches knowingly.
"Like you said, we can't," he murmurs.
I swallow. "Right."
"We'd just be scratching an itch if anything."
Fucker.
34.
His tongue peeks out, purposefully brushing his bottom lip.
"Has anyone ever done that to you before?" he asks lowly.
I laugh at the question. "I'm 33, Edward. What do you think?"
He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "Okay. Have they done it well?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I fire back.
The answer is no, though.
I've had decent sex in my lifetime, but unfortunately, I've never quite been with a man who was good with his mouth.
And now that we're talking about it, it's all I fucking want.
But I want it to be with him.