When I am through, I shut down my computer. Ten o’clock. Early to be going to bed, but it’s been a long day. After getting ready for bed, I slip under the covers next to Paris. I have a king-size bed because I like space as I sleep, but the bed feels small with Paris in it. I am wearing a t-shirt and panties and still feel overdressed. I turn on my side away from Paris so our butts are facing each other. He turns over and snuggles up next to me. We fit together well. I listen to his even breathing as I drift along. Just as I’m about to fall asleep, I feel his hand move from my waist down to my hip. His fingers are curled over so they are brushing the crease that separates my thigh from my groin. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but he’s crossing the danger zone. I pick up his hand and put it back on his own hip. A minute later, it’s back on my thigh. I turn around to face him.
“Paris Frantz, you stop that.” I am fierce with him, knowing it’s the only way to nip this in the bud. I have miscalculated, however, since turning around puts my face inches away from his. Even in the dark, I can feel him looking at me before I sense him moving forward. His lips meet mine squarely, and his tongue separates my lips. A moan slips out of my throat as he continues to kiss me. I know I should put a stop to this, but it feels too good. His hand is on my other thigh and rubbing in slow circles.
“Rayne, I need this,” he whispers after breaking off the kiss. I can taste the alcohol and the toothpaste, and it’s a strange combination. I feel his breath on my cheek as his hand moves up my thigh, over my waist, under my shirt and settles on my breast. It’s as if I’ve been branded with an iron. Jolts of electricity shoot through me. Our lips meet. Suddenly, I am angry that he is putting me in this position yet again. He knows that I lust over him. He knows that while we have always been very good at this, it’s inadvisable for us to have sex. He knows all this, and yet, he doesn’t care. Even as my body responds to his touch, my mind is quietly fuming.
“Paris, you have to stop,” I whisper back, my voice ragged. Paris rolls me onto my back and props himself up over me. My thighs part out of their own volition and the fingers of his left hand are sliding under my panties while his right hand is still occupied with my breast.
“Shh, darling, don’t say anything.” Paris covers my mouth with his. I know this is wrong. I know we shouldn’t be doing this, but I am past the point of stopping. I finally submit, deciding to deal with the consequences after it is over. He moves his right hand to my arm and starts the slow, steady stroking that drives me so wild. He is poised over me when I realize what he’s about to do.