At this, moisture coats Pete’s eyes. “He’s a pain in the ass with his crap about computers and things but I love that kid.” When I smile, he says, “Like you.”
I swallow again, this time thickly, painfully. “Please don’t tell him. I’ve made him a promise.”
“He’s a clueless asshole, isn’t he? Making such a sweet girl cry for him.” He shakes his head. “I won’t say anything. Even if Idid, I doubt it’d get through his thick head. But you, Callie, you don’t be afraid to push him. Don’t be afraid to do what needs to be done to make that bastard see sense.” Then with a twinkle in his kind eyes, he says, “And when you get a chance, ask him what he keeps in the trunk of that fucking Mustang of his.”
That was confusing. But okay.
I take Pete’s advice and tuck it inside my heart as we leave.
He’s right.
I need to push Reed to make him see that this is his dream. This garage, his cars. The Mustang he built when he was in high school. That’s what he wants to do.
He’s always talking about my dream of being a ballerina, but what about him?
What about what he wants?
I need to give him that. After everything he’s given me, after everything he hides from me.
And I need to give him what he wants right now too. He wants relief, I know.
I can see it in the tight lines of his body as he drives us back to the glass house. I can see that I’ve tortured him enough. By pushing him for a meeting with Pete, by baking cupcakes and cookies for someone else.
He was fine while he was working at the garage but I know he’s back to feeling antsy.
While I’d never ever regret pushing and well, I’m going to push him more, I can at least calm him down. I can at least make things better for him.
So as soon as we get back home, I whisper, “Help me down on my knees.” When he only stares at me with a frown, I add, “Please, Roman.”
And he does that.
He helps my heavy body so I can drop down on my knees and get to work.
But first he takes off his hoodie and spreads it on the floor so I can rest my knees on something soft instead of hardwood.
My hands go for his jeans and I open them with eager, expert hands.
He’s not the only one who knows how to play with my body. I know how to play with his as well. He’s taught me and I want to play with him now.
I want to bring out his dick and suck on it.
I already know it’s big, his cock. But when I unzip him and bring it out, I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time.
It’s angry right now.
All thick and hard and huge, sticking out of his body.
Mean looking, villainous.
Because I tortured him. Because I drove him crazy.
I look up at him, his face that looks as mean as his arousal. “Sorry I made cupcakes for someone else.”
His jaw clenches and he grips his dick in his large hand. “So are you going to apologize to me?”
I nod, rubbing my palms up and down his jean-covered thighs. “Yes.”
He tugs on his rod, his face becoming meaner. “What else though? What else are you going to apologize for?”
