Lainey’s face scrunches up as if she has absolutely no idea what I could be insinuating. The flush in her cheeks gives her away though.
“Why else would I have stayed?” she asks, crossing her arms as she abruptly stands from the bed. Her eyes hold mine as I step toward her. I’ll give her credit, if she’s nervous, she’s not showing it.
When I’m standing right in front of her, I look down at her with a smirk. Her nostrils flare and she looks like she’s trying so hard to look mad.
I take another small step into her, causing her to fall back onto the bed so that I’m towering over her even more than I was when she was standing.
I notice how her breath catches and how her eyes darken just a bit as she looks into mine.
“To see me come out all wet and dripping for you,” I offer. I bring my hand up to rub my thumb over her bottom lip, but she smacks me away, huffing.
“You wish, you perv,” she says, but she doesn’t attempt to move away from me. Is she enjoying this as much as I am? This teasing and taunting?
I mean, I’m in a towel, and I’m standing above her. It would be so easy to rip those pajama pants and tank off her smooth skin. So easy to…
“You’re staring,” Lainey whispers in a sexy as fuck tone. Fuck, she’s right. She’s not wearing a bra, I can tell by the way her nipples are poking out from under her shirt.
“I know,” I admit. No point in trying to deny it when she clearly caught me in the act. She moves slightly, causing my hard cock to brush against her leg.
Shit, this girl is going to drive me crazy, but for some reason, I can’tback away.
Chapter 16
Lainey
Why must this man be so infuriatingly attractive, and why must he smell so goddamn good?
He knows exactly what he’s doing as he leans over my body, standing in nothing but a towel as water slowly drips off him.
When I marched myself over here in the cold night air, I planned on bursting in and yelling at Holland for making me think about my parents and how depressing it is that neither of them actually give a shit about me. For bringing up a forbidden topic.
I know he didn’t do it on purpose. I know I act like it doesn’t bother me. I can see it being hard to tell if it even bothers me from an outsider standpoint, I guess.
I feel like I do a great job at hiding the fact that some days, it actually crushes me. I’ve been told it would be beneficial to see a therapist, mainly by Mrs. Monroe who says that a therapist could help me “work through my feelings”.
Honestly, it could help, although I hate the thought of talking to someone who is only there because I’m paying them to listen. Which is hilarious because I’m a psychology major. I’m just not sure if it’s truly what I want to do with my life.
The fact that my parents act as if I don’t exist and only contact me once in a blue moon doesn’t exactly bother me twenty-four seven. I don’t let it. If I did, it would destroy me.
When I was little, sure. I didn’t know how to regulate my feelings, but now? I know how to push those feelings down and bottle them up. Until I’m reminded by a stupid boy that my life is pathetic.
This is why I turned to sex and drinking. It would help distract me from my reality.
My eyes meet Holland’s green ones, which are no longer locked on my nipples. I mentally chastise myself for not putting on a bra before I walked over here in a fit of rage.
Then again, I didn’t imagine I’d be getting this close to him. Why has he not moved? Do I even want him to move? I mean, I just felt his dick rub against my leg, and damn. That thing seems big.
Shit, Lainey. Don’t think about his dick. This is Holland. This is Ellie’s brother. Think with your head, Lane, not your vagina.
God, it’s right there. All I’d have to do is push the towel down, and it would be free.
I have to physically keep my eyes from traveling south as I glare at him. He’s smirking, as if he can read my mind, and I pray he can’t because damn, that would be embarrassing.
Deciding that the temptation is too much, and that he’d never let me live it down if I made a move first, I push up on my elbows, causing him to back up. At first, I don’t think he’ll move, but he does, taking a step to the side to let me up.
Clearing my throat, I move toward the door. I no longer feel like yelling, and this whole thing was a waste of time. I should have just stayed home and wallowed, except I had to get the last word.
“Where are you going?” Holland asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed where I just vacated. He looks delicious, and I hate myself for thinking that.
