And now in a moment of anger I had just fucked the whole thing up.I had wanted him so bad, that I became afraid of the possibility of making a fool out of myself, and never considered the fact that he might actually like me too.Then I remembered that one of the things he did to trigger what I did had been him telling me that he thought I was pretty. He had fumbled around with it, but it finally came out. That was probably why he'd had to pay other people to send me the frigging flowers. That shyness was going to be tough to get used to.The next thing that was really scary to consider, was that I was so busy trying to put myself into his head, that I didn't really consider his actions.Why would a guy who had almost turned down a blow job, because he was concerned for me from his sweat, show up simply for sex? Or if he considered me to be just some whore, why would he go to all the trouble to find me, and then spend a retarded amount of money sending me flowers?Nope all of the evidence. I start to work my hands over his chest. Ever so slowly I push my hips harder against him, with every stroke of my hands. I slide myself down his body, my nose and lips brushing down his body, hands trailing behind. I enjoy the feel of his body beneath my fingers. My hands slip over his skin, I feel his muscles beneath. I tease my fingers closer and closer to his hard cock under the towel. It would be so easy for me to rip the towel off and ride him senseless, and I can tell he feels the same way to. So I get up off the bed declaring. “My turn!” I strip off the baby-doll, stepping out of my panties and making my way back to the bed. I get comfortable face down on the soft white cotton sheets; feather pillows gently support my head. Perhaps as payback for my teasing, or my earlier shock with the oil, J pours the oil directly from the bottle onto my back. The initial shock makes me gasp like he did, but then the sensation of the cold oil trickling over my hot naked body feels so.
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