“Of course.” I wink at her. On the rare occasions we aren’t together for dinner, I still order her favorites.
She gives me an excited grin, then plops herself on the couch and grabs the remote, looking more relaxed now.
Good. Whatever this weird tension is between us, it needs to stop. I want to be the one Lacey can be herself with—always.
Steam warms my hands as I hand her a bowl of microwaved food and a beer, then drop onto the couch next to her.
Two drinks, two bowls, and the television playing in the background; the domesticity of the scene should turn off my commitment-phobic brain, but the swelling in my cock argues against it. I’d take a night in with my favorite girl anytime.
She looks up at me with those big blue eyes and a smile that slams into my gut.
The professor will fall to his knees when she finally asks for what she wants.
I grip my fork too hard.
“So… when does the lesson start?” she asks, placing her bowl next to her unopened beer before facing me.
She looks too eager, and I’m the reason; telling her she needs to get laid was fucking stupid because now I have to sit back while she lets some asshole put his unworthy hands on her.
Hunger gives up to the irrational jealousy churning in my gut. Sliding my bowl next to hers, I sit back, cushions swallowing my body as I sink into the couch. It creates the right amount of space between us, and space is what I need to keep my head clear.
We should not sit closer.
I loop an arm over her shoulder and tuck her against my chest—we have clothes on, that’s enough space.
“You make it sound like there’s a foolproof step-by-step method of seduction,” I say and play with her hair, twirling a few silky strands between my fingers.
“There isn’t?” She teases, still looking up at me. Her head lolls on my bicep, exposing the smooth lines of her neck to my fingertips. I can’t resist brushing one finger over her collarbone—skin so smooth that the tip of my finger glides across it like silk.
“Real life isn’t like your stories,” I whisper, my lips brushing the side of her forehead. “You may have a plotline, but the characters don’t always do what you expect.”
Did her breath just shudder?
“I know that.”
I let my finger stop at the pulse point in her neck, enjoying how it quickens, causing the shallow breaths she tries to hide.
Do I make her nervous?
“I know I get wrapped up in stories a lot.” Her throat bobs, and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “But I don’t know how to relax and get out of my head.”
“When you want someone enough, it will happen.” Lacey curled up on the couch with someone else, two empty bowls side by side, is not a scene I want to picture.
She opens the notes app on her phone and looks at me expectantly.
“Any practical tips until then?”
I hide my smile behind her hair. She is such a fucking nerd. “Don’t wear a suit.”
Lacey Wright pulls off sexy and successful too well. “Wear something you’re confident and comfortable in.”
Like these fucking pajamas.
She types her first note, and I hold back the groan as I picture peeling the threadbare bottoms from her thighs and draping her ankles over my shoulders. Her fingers would fly across herphone screen, never missing a beat as she noted my technique, recording what tongue flick feels best.
My cock is so full it’s painful. I need to stroke, preferably with Lacey’s mouth wide open and waiting.
The delicate sound of her breath catching draws my attention.
