WalkingSin by Lynn LaFleur

usually dated. His dates wanted a good time—dinner, maybe a
movie or pool at Boot Scootin’, and sex. They never spoke about the future, not
even another date. Good times. Nothing more.
    Funny how thinking about his usual date
left a bad taste in his mouth.
    Since sleep wouldn’t be possible yet, he
decided to finish the book he’d started over the weekend. Dax took a sip of
wine and turned on his e-reader. He’d read a couple of paragraphs when he heard
the door close. He looked up to see Kelcey leaning against it.
    She wore his T-shirt. The hem hit her at
upper thigh, letting him see all of her pretty legs. He didn’t know if she wore
anything beneath it, but he suspected not.
    He hoped not.
    Pushing herself away from the door, she
slowly walked toward him. Her hard nipples pressed against the soft cotton,
proving that she didn’t wear a bra. When she reached his side, she took the
e-reader from his limp fingers and laid it on the nightstand.
    “You won’t need that for a while.”
    He’d lost his ability to think, much less
speak. He’d never expected this from Kelcey. Dreamed of it, yes. Wished for it,
yes. Assumed it would happen, no.
    Kelcey climbed on the bed and straddled his
thighs, her pussy no more than three inches from his cock. “I need you to do
something for me.”
    Dax swallowed, willed his tongue to work
again. “What?”
    “Don’t touch me. Let me touch you.”
    Since all the blood in his body had rushed
to his dick, Dax couldn’t move anyway except to nod.
    She touched his beard with her fingertips.
Dax watched her eyes as she touched him. Her gaze followed her hands. She
stroked his jawline, caressed his mustache. She ran her fingers beneath his
chin to the smooth skin of his neck where he shaved.
    “It’s so soft.” Her gaze traveled up to
meet his. “I expected a beard to be coarse.”
    “Whiskers are coarse. A beard is longer
than just whiskers.”
    “I don’t like stubble, but this is nice.”
She continued to look into his eyes as her fingertips caressed his jawline
again. “How long have you had a beard?”
    “Ten years.”
    She leaned closer, rubbed her cheek against
his. Dax squeezed his hands into fists on the bed. He understood why she asked
him not to touch her, yet he yearned to do exactly that. He wanted to feel her
skin beneath his fingers, cradle her breasts in his palms, slide his hand
between her thighs and find out if she wore panties or not. He wanted to tunnel
his hands into her soft blonde hair and kiss her until neither of them could
breathe.
    She slid her lips over his jaw and to his
mouth. He didn’t return the kiss, but let her explore his mouth at her leisure.
Her lips pressed so tenderly against his. She moved her mouth one way, then the
other, over and over again. She nipped gently at his lower lip with her teeth,
flicked the tip of her tongue over the bite. Those soft, sweet kisses caressed
his lips again.
    After a few moments of torture on his part,
she moved back enough so he could see into her eyes. “Why aren’t you kissing
me?”
    “You told me not to touch you.”
    “I want you to kiss me. Please.”
    This time when she pressed her lips to his,
Dax responded. He kept the kisses soft and sweet, the way she seemed to want
them. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he parted his lips and swiped his
tongue over the inside of her bottom lip.
    She moaned.
    Keeping the kisses gentle became more
difficult. Dax wanted to hold her, to ravish her mouth, her body. He twisted his
hands into the bedspread beneath him to keep from reaching for her.
    When the kisses ended this time, Dax didn’t
know which of them breathed heavier. She rested her forehead against his. Each
puff of air from her mouth flowed over his lips. It made him long for more of
her taste.
    “I’ve never…” She lifted her forehead from
his. “I’ve never felt like this.”
    Neither had he. He’d kissed dozens of
women. Kisses had always been a prelude to sex. Kisses with