Stop Playing Innocent // COMPLETED

32 // ...Birthday.

While his focus is forward, I don't take any more 'innocent girl' chances and let my hand barely rest on his thigh like he did earlier to me while he drove.

"Is that so?", he slowly nods when taking a different turn on the road to my question, "Well then, what does go on in your head when you somehow decided to creepily stare at me at school or anywhere else, huh Damon? Tell me your fantasies. Don't be afraid, I won't mind you turning into Mr. Grey for a second."

"I guess... kissing you is something I can't stand not being able to do at school. Basically the shittiest part of the day", his voice ever so slightly trembles along with my hand trailing up and down, closer and closer.

"A la French style with tongue or no?"

"Oh no, all tongue. Even if kissing you on the lips is never enough, I'd make sure you get the best of all things."

Laying my cheek onto the top of his arm, I look to the same direction of the road as he slowly whispered, "I could give you other places to kiss."

"Jo, your hand is-"

"Do you ever think of, say... pulling me into your room for the pure sake of making out for a few minutes too long?"

"Is that really the question?", he sighs, my first time seeing his body language show obvious shyness, but later admits, "Always."

I pout at the thought, "Only to make out?"

"If giving you several marking hickeys on your favorite sensitive parts of your neck and holding your body all for myself against mine counts as part of making out-", his swift glance to me makes the temperature on this car seem hotter, "-then, yes."

Damn his deep voice and hazel eyes.

"What if you roughly pushed me up against the wall - since I love it when you do - when I delightedly decide to take off my shirt and wrap my legs around your waist?" 

"You'd be laying on the bed in no time with only my hands all over your beautiful curves and leaving kisses on every inch of your body. Since you loved it when I do that."

"How about the very tragic loss of my shirt?"

He smirks, more to himself and his own mind.

"Baby I'm sure you wouldn't give a damn about your poor little shirt once I rip every last piece of your clothing off you."

He parks into the garage of my house but doesn't reach for the door. My hand traces over the zipper of his shorts, and I could already feel his hardness through the material.

"What if...", I find difficulty in speaking with calm.

Ignoring the tension in the car, he uses the delicate touch of his hand to tilt my chin up to his face. Eyes that scream with thirst and hunger for each other stare back into mine.

"Don't be shy, Jo, continue."

"What if I innocently moved your hand to the most pleasurable part of my body in between of my thighs?", I didn't even stutter, but shit, was this hard to say this in front of him, "What would you do, Dawson?"