One Step Forward…

I grabbed his face and kissed him, my sweaty body sticking to his, knees bent and pressed deep into my couch cushions on the sides of his thighs.

“I need a break,” I said, and hopped off, turning on my heel to head toward the bathroom.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, grabbing my hips and pulling me back down onto his lap.

“Yes!” I said, laughing, squirming, while he held me firmly in place.  I finally managed to wiggle down to the floor, where I threw myself forward, ready to take off – but he was quick.  He grabbed my biceps and held me there.  “Where are you going?” he asked with amusement.

“I have to pee!  Let me go!” I said, still laughing.  “Okay,” he said, briefly letting go of my arms for a moment.  As soon as I moved my arm forward onto the floor in front of me, however, he had grabbed my leg and dragged me back a few inches.

What ensued was me slowly making my way to the bathroom; I would crawl a foot forward and he would pull me back six inches.  I’d move, he’d drag.  I was no longer focused on my bladder – now we were playing a game.  The Texan is a foot taller than me and considerably heavier; the first time we wrestled, he was surprised at how long I could hold him down.  But now he was the one towering above me, letting me think I could almost make it before making sure I couldn’t.  And it was fucking hot.  What needed a respite before now re-lubricated at the struggle.  I wanted him to drag me, to pull me, to hold me down and immobilize me.  I strove to inch forward harder so he could pull me back just as hard.  It was exhausting, but it felt like much-needed relief in some way.

It triggered something in him that opened up to me that night.  In bed, in the dark, I held him tight; he told me some really personal things and asked me deep questions.  I felt more connected to him than I ever had.  It was like that struggle to move different directions had snapped us both into place next to each other, holding fast, at least for the night.

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