I can't help the moan that escapes my mouth at the taste of her tongue against mine, and my hips pulse reflexively up to meet hers. But before I can reach the heat emanating from her core, she grasps my neck in her hand and pushes me away, pressing...
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"Dude what were you thinking?" I say to him, tugging at the ends of my hair in frustration.
"What was I thinking? More like 'What was she thinking?'! She head butted me!"
I hop off my bed and walk toward him with a finger pointed toward his chest. "You basically trapped and lifted her!"
His brows raised in alarm and his arms spread out, "Are you fucking serious? It was a hug!"
I resist the urge to shove him back for his lack of understanding, and instead pinch the bridge of my nose. "Look at it from her position dipshit. She doesn't know you. You, a generally big dude, walk into a small room. When she tried to shake your hand, you took it upon yourself to not only hug her without asking, but lift her off the ground."
I see some of the frustration coming off his face, and a bit of understanding dawn on it. But then he shakes his head and begins to protest.
"That still doesn't make it okay for her to hurt me!"
I drop my hands to my sides in frustration. "Oliver! Some people have bad experiences being touched by strangers! You can't just throw around your weight and manhandle women as if they're dolls just because you can!"
My words are firm, my eyes are wide, and my breath coming out in pants because I'm so frustrated at him, so mad at myself, and so worried about her.
I watch as my words are quickly absorbed and, much like when he first walked into the room and was met by the intimidatingly beautiful Mistress Valencia, his face lost some of its coloring.
"Fuuuuuck...I need to re-evaluate a lot of my interactions with women..."
He runs a hand through his hair, a look of horror adorning his face. Hopefully he's thinking about the fact that not every woman has the courage or self confidence to advocate for themselves or communicate their discomfort.
"Okay, I regret my actions. But still, she could have just said something."
I looked around the room in frustration, then spot his football sitting in the corner. I grab it and throw it at him, full speed. The shock on his face lasts barely a quarter of a millisecond before his reflexes kick in and he grasps the ball before it hits him dead in the face.
"She did say something. This whole thing could have been avoidable but you didn't fucking listen when she asked you to put her down." I state in exasperation.
Is this what women have to deal with? Men violating their boundaries and then having to explain something that should be so simple and self explanatory.
