“I was asking if you wanted dessert.” He looks at my crotch. “But if you’re offering, then yes, please. I don’t even need the cherry on top.”
I look down at the outline of my erection in my sweatpants. At least I’m wearing underwear, or I’d be sporting a nice tent with these loose pants.
Bubble giggles but walks past me to the fridge. He grabs a couple of ramekins and then takes two spoons from the drawer.
“Come on, Coach. Let’s use that nice couch of yours.”
I draw a deep breath before following him, my eyes on the perfect curve of his ass. I’ve always been an ass man.
I guess that hasn’t changed.
“What have you got there?” I ask.
“Not an erection, but if I catch you checking out my ass again, I can’t promise it won’t happen.”
I groan. “Curtis.”
I sit on the couch in my favorite spot. I’m not surprised when Curtis sits cross-legged so close to me that all I can smell is his strawberry scent and feel the warmth of his body.
Don’t small people usually run cold?
He gives me one of the ramekins and a spoon.
“This is chocolate mousse,” he says. “It’s one of my favorite desserts, so I only have it on special occasions.”
I scoop a portion of the mousse. It looks fluffy and light, like the kind I’ve had in restaurants.
When I taste it, though, there’s a stark difference. It’s so much better. The texture melts in your mouth, and the chocolate is rich without being too much. It’s absolute perfection.
“Hmm, this is amazing, Curtis. I really don’t know how you do everything so perfectly.”
He stares at me. “What? Pfft. I don’t. I just like making people happy.”
“That may be so, but you’re a talented baker and cook, and I’ve seen how you’ve built the cheerleading team at the school from the ground up.”
I notice the skin on his neck reddening. He finishes his dessert and places the ramekin on the floor by the couch, and then looks at me.
The vulnerability in his eyes breaks my heart, especially because I’m probably the reason he’s feeling like that to start with.
“I guess we should talk about what happened earlier,” I say, placing my ramekin next to his.
“Can I ask one question before you say anything else?”
“Sure.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.” I take his hand until he gets the message and straddles me. “I would do it again.”
He smiles and puts his hands so lightly on my chest that it’s like they’re not even there.
“Do you want to touch me?” I ask.
He bites his lower lip. “Yes, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I laugh. “This is about to be the most uncomfortable conversation of my life. I don’t think anything you do can make it any worse.”
He raises a brow. “Even a blowie?”
