“Little mouse.”
I suck in a breath. His voice is all low and commanding, and my cock gives a little jerk.
I hand the phone to Finn, and he cocks his head. “Here,” I say, but it comes out more mouselike.Huh, fitting.
Finn takes the phone from my hand. “Hello?”
Ohhh, I’m in trouble… Fuck, I hope he adds this to my edgingpunishmenttotal. I laugh at the thought of the wordpunishment.I mean, if I’m begging for it, how much of a punishment can it be?It’s not knowingwhenthat’s the issue. He makes me hard every time we’re in the same room.
I grab my dick and adjust my growing erection. Maybe it’s every time I hear his voice.
I’m so busy thinking about erections—my erection, his erection—that I don’t even notice they’ve stopped talking until Finn hands me back my phone.
I look down, seeing the call ended as Finn slaps me on the back and heads into the kitchen.
I feel disappointed the call ended, which is foolish, but I’m an expert at foolish. It’s not like I expected him to sit on the phone and talk to me until we both fell asleep. I can’t call him. I mean, are we even at the point where I can just call him for no reason?
Needing to shake off the feeling, I stand up and join Alex and Mira dancing to the end credits. When Spencer comes walking out of his room, everyone yells, “Spandex!” and takes one last shot of tequila.
I plop back down on the couch. Huh, I think, looking over at Spencer. I wonder if I could pull off spandex?
“Do you think I could pull off spandex?” I ask no one.
“I think your ass would look like perfection in spandex.” A voice says into my ear, and I shiver… Dom.
I turn, swallowing thickly.
“What are you doing here?” I ask even though my insides are having a rave.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“But that’s never bothered you before.”
A synchronized, scandalized “Ooooooh” rises from the oversized armchair. Spencer, Mira, and Alex treat us like live theater, knees tucked, eyes big, and in need of popcorn, I can only imagine.Absolutely no shame.
Dom doesn’t look at them. He’s angled toward me, blockingout half the room. “I’ve always cared about you making it home safely… even if it’s only twenty feet away.”
I tip my head. “So you came to escort me across the deck? How very knightly of you. Should I fetch my surcoat? Maybe my medieval spandex?”
Mira cough-laughs into her sleeve. Alex whispers, “Please fetch the spandex,” like a prayer.
Dom’s mouth barely moves. “The spandex is… a conversation for another time.”
I feel my face heat, which is unfair because tequila is supposed to protect me from embarrassment. “You don’t get to just show up and have opinions about my hypothetical pants.”
“I do when your hypothetical pants are a public hazard.”
“Hazard?” I lean back, spreading my knees in a challenge I pretend is comfortable. “To whom?”
His gaze flicks down, quick and traitorous, before he pins it on my eyes again. “Traffic.”
“Ooooooh,” the chorus repeats.
Spencer props his chin on his fist. “Dom, scale of one to Olympic floor routine, how would you rate Beck’s potential in spandex?”
Dom doesn’t blink. “I’m not sharing my number.”
“Private number,” I murmur. “Rude.”
