Driftwood Deeds Read Online Free PDF Page A

heat between my legs and I tried. I genuinely tried to step back emotionally and consider the situation. But his face was so handsome when he looked sad, beautiful in an entirely different way and before I knew what I was doing, I reached up and brushed my hand over his cheek, too. The first touch burned into my fingertips, that rough, weatherworn texture, the hint of a scruff that was a world of difference to my own face.
    “That’s what you said,” I told him quietly, more calm, more daring than I felt. “You said you wanted to sleep with me. That’s all I assumed. All I agreed to.” 
    I cleared my throat and if I could have done anything to prevent myself from blushing, I would have. Paul nodded and plucked my hand from his face to kiss my palm and then each fingertip. 
    In hindsight, it is easy to point to moments like this one—and as honest as I am trying to be with myself, I don’t know if I believed that. I just know that I desperately wanted to be that person, that I wanted to explore the terra incognita he had opened in front of me and that I couldn’t have looked myself in the eyes anymore if I had closed myself off from all he had to offer in order to return to my flat, my cat, my job and my vibrator without even trying, without even a taste.
    Paul didn’t smile. He watched me and when he came to my thumb, he sucked it into his mouth in turn. Within a moment, it was engulfed in warm, unexpectedly intense wetness. My eyes bulged and I uttered an involuntary sigh that rang through the silent room. His tongue curled around it, flicked at it and then he suckled hard. Just when the first moan broke through my chest, he let it slip out, though, causing a sudden and stark difference in temperature.
    “You have a tape recorder with you, don’t you?” he asked, more hoarse than before. Numbly, I nodded. 
    “Fetch it for me.” When I was about to get to my feet, he continued, “There’s no reason for you to get up.”
    I stared. For a moment, I couldn’t move but he simply looked at me as though he had said nothing extraordinary at all. Before my brain could catch up and make my face erupt in heat, I nodded, and leaned forward, letting my palms meet the floor. The pressure that rolled over my kneecaps made me grunt, but once I was settled, it wasn’t so bad. I looked back up at him one more time, checking if this was indeed what he meant and when he smiled approvingly, I started to crawl around him and towards the door. The moment I left the threadbare carpet, I could feel my tights snag on the wooden floorboards. I stopped, managed to disentangle them but after a few feet it happened again and this time, I could do nothing to prevent the ripping sound. Immediately, I was more aware of my ass swinging, of exposing myself, of the humiliating posture and every time my thighs moved against each other I thought I was even wetter than before.
    By the time I reached my bag, I was out of breath from the unfamiliar style of movement. I sat back on my heels and looked through my things until I found the recorder. It was an old model, faux metal with quite a few scratches. It lay comfortably in my hand but when I tried to crawl with it, I realized it wouldn’t be that easy. More long than broad, I knew I could fit it into my mouth and the movie flashed through my mind. It was what he would expect, but when I opened my lips to push it between my teeth, the shape and width was so suggestive, I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks so hard it made me dizzy on the way back. 
    He didn’t immediately take it from me when I was kneeling back by his side. He looked at my torn tights, the hint of saliva in the corner of my mouth, the red pressure marks on my open palms. Finally, he stroked my cheek and gently extricated the tape recorder. He weighed it in his hands and opened it. A tiny little cassette sprang out and he laughed.
    “Where do you even still get these?” He took it out to examine it as if it were one