Only Oscar (Wattys 2022 Shortlist!)

Chapter Twelve

They dined at Junior's, surrounded by baseball memorabilia, sampling food off each other's plates like they had since they were kids, particularly when it came to dessert. 

Afterwards, they went to the Top Of The Rock to check if they could see their apartment's from there. Apparently not, but they had fun looking. 

They took several selfies with Oscar's cell-phone, most of them goofy and a couple photo-frame worthy to appease Callie's desire to immortalize the day. Oscar doubted he would ever forget it, though his reasons had more to do with her than what they were doing.

From the second they met outside the subway station, until they were once again stood on the steps outside her building's door, he had trouble keeping his hands off her. 

On the Duck Tour, it appeared the feeling was mutual. And when Callie set her mind to it, she could be quite the seductress. At every available opportunity throughout the day, she leaned close enough for him to feel her breasts pressed against his body, slipped her fingers under the edge of his T-Shirt to trace the skin on his back and tucked her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. But while every one of those moves gradually drove him crazy, the real clincher – the move which had the most lasting effect and almost pushed him over the edge – was when she retrieved his cell-phone from the front pocket of his jeans on top of the Rockefeller building.

Every molecule in his body leapt to attention, every drop of oxygenated blood disappeared from his brain. It didn't matter how quickly she removed her hand or that she spent the next fifteen to twenty-five minutes trying to distract him by taking pictures. The damage was done. And from that moment on, he sported a hard-on which could hammer nails into concrete. 

If she made it into her building with all her clothes intact, he'd be eligible for sainthood.

"Come up for coffee," she murmured against his mouth after they'd spent ten minutes making out.

Oscar sent up a silent plea for strength.

"Bad idea," he muttered back, his fingers splayed over the soft skin coating her rib-cage, the tips of his thumbs brushing the lace underside of what he figured had to be a strapless bra.

"Mmm-mmm," she argued. "Good idea." To prove the point, she moved her hips and nudged his erection with her abdomen. "It will be so very good... I swear..."

Oscar veered dangerously close to whatever the opposite of sainthood was by instigating another deep, opened-mouthed kiss as his thumbs traced the underside of her breasts.

"Come inside," she demanded.

Her choice of words didn't help.

"No."

"Yes."

"It's too soon."

"Isn't."

"Is." 

He nudged her nose with his, rested his forehead against hers and took a long breath. There was nothing he wanted more than to go upstairs with her and finish what they'd started, but it would be better if he left.

"You know I want you," she whispered raggedly.

Oscar smiled, the knowledge filling him with enough male pride to make him feel fifty feet tall. 

"Yes."

"And you want me, right?"

"Yes."

When he cupped her breasts, she sucked in a harsh breath and arched her spine, leaning into his touch so he could feel beaded nipples pressed against his palms.