I’m not even inside her yet, and my eyes are crossed.
“Maybe I should be carrying you,” she says, andfuuuuuck.
Why does that make me even goddamn harder?
“You could, couldn’t you?”
“I might be short-ish, but I’m very strong.”
“You’re fucking perfect.”
She presses a kiss to my neck as I cross into my bedroom, one hand gliding down to trace the skull and crossbones on my chest, and I swear on sweet baby Louisville Slugger, I’m gonna blow right here. I clench my jaw, take a deep breath, and almost get myself under control.
“Why did the baseball player cross the road?” I blurt.
Waverly shifts in my arms, her legs tightening around my bare hips, and she giggles again. “I don’t know. Why?”
“To get to the baseball park.”
There’s a beat of silence as I get two steps closer to the bed, and then she bursts out laughing.
Crisisnotaverted.
“What—oh.” She wiggles her hips.
I make a very unsexy and very unhuman noise.
“Cooper Rock, am I driving you wild?” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“I haven’t even taken my clothes off yet.”
“I know.”
“I really wanted to ask Max for his autograph earlier. He’s my favorite Fireball.”
“What?”
She rocks her hips again.
My eyes cross and my balls tighten.
“Hm,” Waverly purrs. “Nope. That didn’t work. How about this? I think about Panther when I masturbate.”
My brain takes a second to catch on. “The aging rock star?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck. Thatdoeswork.”
She laughs again. “It really does, doesn’t it? He’s not my type. And he’s old. Well. Guess you have your work cut out for you to turn both of us back on again.”
I climb onto my bed with her still clinging to me. “Tell me more about you masturbating.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “I was joking.”
“You never pleasure yourself?”
