“What?” I don’t consider what I’m doing before poking a finger in her ribs. Can’t quite reach her through the thick coat, but still she squirms and giggles. Within seconds, we’re tussling on the elevator floor. She’s laughing, I’m grinning like a fool. IwishI could see her face. Is she flushed? Are those wide blue eyes hazy and unfocused? And her mouth. God, her mouth. What’s it doing?
Shit, I want her. And not just that, which is bad enough. I actuallylikeher. A lot.
I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t fall for this American with her round, pink face and her sweet scent and that biting edge of humor that I’d never in a million years have guessed was hiding behind the sugary sweet facade. I can’t…
She moves again, gathering her limbs up tighter into a knot on my lap and, in the process, rubbing that heavy arse against my cock. That bastard apparently doesn’t give a shit about my promise to keep this from getting weird. With every shift, every hint of friction, it’s warming and thickening and if she doesn’t quit that—
Her next twist of limbs moves her so she’s straddling me and, in the blink of an eye, the air changes.
Everything changes. Our breathing, the sounds around us, Christ, I think the dark’s gotten darker.
“Stop that.” My hands tighten, holding her in place.
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t breathe, I don’t think.
For a handful of seconds, we sit completely frozen, both probably listening to the other trying not to make a sound. Both waiting.
Only one of us wanting, though.
“Are you…all right?” She finally breaks the silence, her voice low and breathy.
My “Fine” is a strained, transparent lie.
“I’m too heavy, right?” She moves as if to rise. “Sorry. I should have—”
“No. No, not at all.”
I let her struggle to standing. I can’t exactly keep her on my lap against her will, can I?
“Sure,” she replies, her voice thick.
Shit. Shit, shit.
“Jules, I…” I huff out an impatient breath. “You weren’t too heavy. You’re not heavy. You’re…”Perfect. I know your weight now, know how every gram feels in my arms, on my thighs. I know how your skin sounds against denim. I know how you smell up close.
“Listen. Seriously, it’s fine. I’m used to it. Just part of being a plus size—”
“No!” I exclaim a little too loudly, offended. “I was having an unfortunate reaction.”
“Reaction?”
I clear my throat and thunk my head back against the wall once. Twice. It knocks hollowly, its volume more painful than the contact. Finally, my voice a dry, ragged, raspy thing, I say, “To your stupendous arse.” Amongst other things.
Her inhalation is audible. “Oh.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly natural—”
“Could we find a new topic of conversation? Please?”
“Oh, sure. Yeah. Ummmmm…”
I wrack my brain for something—anything—to draw attention from my now-aching cock and come up with, “So, you worked today, then?”
“Yep. Yes. Definitely.” The floor creaks. I imagine it’s her shifting her weight from one foot to the other and back. The dark is uncomfortable now, as full as it was a moment ago, only now it’s awkward and wrong. “I go in early. Five, usually. Six today, because I stayed late last night, doing the meringues. And, you know, with Italy coming up, there wasn’t time to see my grandmother for the holidays, so I just…stayed.”
“Is that all right? Not too lonely?”
