This close, I smell her citrus shampoo and spicy skin lotion. This close, the silky skin of her forearm slides over my neck, spreading a trail of warmth that lingers. When she leans back, her smoky eyes are heavy-lidded. A slender thumb strokes my beard and then my lower lip.
“That’s sugar.” She leans back into the crook of my arm, one long leg crossed over the other and dangling from the edge of the arm rest. “Because I slept really well last night. Thank you.”
My right arm wraps around her legs to curl her even closer. A girl’s never sat on my lap before. It’s not the kind of thing I invite, but this is different. Because it’s her.
“So, what’s the story behind your writing under a fake name?”
It takes a second for my brain to catch up. All it knows at first is that her mouth is talking rather than kissing, and that it preferred the latter.
“Well,” I say, stalling as I organize my thoughts. “If I’d submitted something as Erik Sorensen, the bar might have been lowered for me. A winning football team is a priority. I figured theDispatch’seditor might give me special treatment.
“A rubber-stamp acceptance does my writing no good. I needed a pen name to see the true response to my work, both from the editor and from the people who read it. The pen name’s useful. When Sorensen has a good game, Riksen’s articles aren’t overrun with congratulations from football fans wanting to show their support.”
“But now you’re coming out of the closet?”
“So to speak,” I say, inclining my head. “Heinrich’s not a rubber stamp guy. And Riksen’s built enough of a reader base for me to feel comfortable that the work resonates.”
Her fingers play with the edge of my jaw, which makes my mind and body abandon the thread of the conversation.
“Casanova will find out who Riksen is. Maybe he already has.”
I shrug.
Arya’s hand drops from my jaw into her lap. “You don’t think you need to be careful?”
“Yeah, I do.”
We’ve probably got another few hours before Uncle Joe comes home. Until then, I could make good use of that guest room bed. I tighten my grip on her as I stand.
Her head turns to look at the floor and then at me, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Walking around the coffee table, I head toward the doorway.
“Erik,” she says, her tone suspicious. “Where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere.”
I carry her upstairs and into the guest room. The bed’s made and our bags are zipped and standing neatly in the corner. She’s a more considerate house guest here. Or she’s trying to conceal that we slept together.
I stride to the bed and drop her on it. As I lower my zipper, she arches a brow.
“Better lock that door at least.”
I walk over and turn the lock. “Get your pants and lingerie out of my way.”
Her eyes widen, but there’s no mistaking the way her pupils dilate and her lips part. I shove my clothes off, exposing my hard cock.
Her cheeks take on a warm glow as she bites her lip and pushes her stretch pants and underwear down over her hips. She doesn’t remove her top. It doesn’t matter. I’ll get it out of my way when I’m ready.
Arya holds out her arms, which strikes me as sweet, and it hits me the same way having her sit on my lap did. If I’m made of ice, she’s melting it.
“You’ll need to be quick,” she says as I crawl onto the bed.
“No.”
I shove her legs apart and lower my mouth to suck on her clit.
Her hand grabs a handful of my hair and fists it.
