The snort and giggle that escapes me can’t be helped. “Do you?”
“Ordinarily, I’ve got great stamina, but you, my gorgeous girl, seem to undo me.”
“Oh.” I like the sound of that.
He chuckles. “Let’s go home. I guess I’ve got a point to prove.”
“I guess you do.”
Chapter Twelve
That Dress
Sam
I’ve been rock-hard since I saw her in her denim shorts. To say I was close to bursting at the restaurant is an understatement. The fact that she’s sitting next to me in my truck completely unaware that her skirt has slid up to her hip, well, that’s only making matters worse. Maybe if I run to my place and jack off real quick, take the edge off, it’ll help slow things down. I look over, and the first thing I notice is her fingers are absently fiddling with the hem of her skirt.
Nope. No time to run home and do anything.
She needs to quit doing that, or it’s comin’ off the second I get her in the door. Because I don’t want to scare her… “You need to quit teasing me with your hand on the edge of that tiny dress of yours.” I want to add, “or it’s coming off the second we’re in my door,” but I don’t.
I’m looking at the road and trying to watch her at the same time. It’s not easy but I’m able to watch her head rotate slowly toward me. I glance down at her hand and it hasn’t budged. Hell, I think it’s pushing the dress up.
Goddamn it. I give her a look of warning but then she laughs. “Sorry.”
“Uh-huh.”
****
“You want to come in, watch a movie or something?” That’s me asking her if she wants to spend more time with me. Maybe fool around some. I’m holding my breath, expecting her answer to be no. Part of me is afraid she’s gonna say yes.
She simply nods, then says, “Sure.”
Opening my front door, I hold it for her to step through first. I follow her in and do a quick check to make sure I picked up everything. There’s a glass on the coffee table that needs to go in the dishwasher and some crumbs from my lunch earlier. Other than that, it’s not bad. “Have a seat. Want a beer? Glass of wine?”
“Wine. Sure.”
As I make my way into my kitchen, she takes a seat on the couch, adjusting her dress so it’s further down her legs. Probably a good move. “White or red?”
“White, please.”
“Got it.” I pour her a glass of dry white and grab a beer for myself.
Returning to the sofa, I hand her the glass and sit right next to her. “You ever been married, Colette?” It’s a valid question. She’s in her thirties.
“Nope.” She shakes her head slowly. “Not even close.” Sipping her wine, she tilts her head slightly. “What about you?”
“Yep. Divorced.”
I must’ve surprised her. “Really?”
“Really.”
She glances around my living room. “Kids?”
“Nope.” I shrug. “She didn’t want kids. I did. It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Iwant kids. I mean, when the time comes.”
