But You Promised

"You promised," I whisper against his lips as he tries to kiss me.

It's the closest to a protest I can muster Just a little whisper of a word and if he was but an inch farther away it would all be too quiet to hear but because he's right here, right here next to me, it's like I'm screaming it.

"Emily?" he asks, his hips faltering for a moment and pausing for just an instant.

God I don't want him to stop. I don't want him to not fuck his way inside of me and just shred that last bit of restraint I have. I don't want him to make me...

But I can't think clearly right now and I know when I could I didn't want this. So I know that when the moment after comes, when the haze of heady lust has slipped away and I am left with just me, facing up to what I've done, I'll regret it.

Not like this. Not for my first time. Not in the dirt and not with a man that I can't find a connection with. Not with someone who, less than an hour ago, I was regretting ever having even said hello to.

Not him. Not here. Not now.

My hands find their strength first and they slide down from his shoulders and over his chest. Pausing briefly to push him away before I slide down even further until my fingers are splayed out around his hips and my palms are pressed in and then I push even harder, not so much sliding him away from me as I am sliding my thighs off of his cock until he pops out and I am free of his spell.

"You promised we didn't have to tonight," I chastize him softly, "Not here in the dirt."

I stare him in the eye and in the frank and honest handsomeness of his symmetrical features I see a flash of something that might be anger or frustration and I understand it. That's the primal side of him, the conditioning from generations upon generations of a single necessary instinct.

We are animals, after all. We are built to breed.

Jake is not a bad man, hell he's not even a particularly weak one. He meant it earlier tonight when he said that he wouldn't push he was just overcome, in the moment. And I could maybe forgive him for that, depending on his reaction in this moment instead.

I watch a slideshow of emotions cross his features as he shifts from frustration to anger to resignation to regret and finally to just desperation, his need clearly evident as the larger brain in his head wages a war with the smaller single-minded one between his legs.

"You just got me worked up," he says, "I forgot. That's all."

It's an excuse, but certainly not an apology. I don't know whether he is or isn't even capable of anything like an apology at this point. Whether maybe he's just the kind of guy who will always find the excuse for his actions instead.

But still, this isn't all about him. What happens next, it's not all about him either.

I smile a little shyly, drawing my fingers back on his hips but not moving my palms an inch, "Well I can't say I'm not pleased that I can work you up like that, but still... You were very bad there. You tried to do things that you shouldn't have done. You broke your promise."

I move my hands an inch. Just drawing them in just a little closer to his throbbing manhood which is no doubt aching even harder with my teasing. Jake moaning a little, out of his control, is clear evidence of that.

"I should be downright mean to you," I muse, nibbling on my bottom lip while I consider it, "Should deny you anything."

He groans, pained at the prospect. But it only lasts for a moment before I smile back at him.

"But where is the fun in that?"

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