“Tina and Rodney are big Wyvern Warriors fans, so we chat a lot about my matches.”
He locks the front door, and I quirk a brow at him. “You planning to lock me in here and have your way with me, Elijah?” I tease, hoping to break through some of the tension thickening the air, but my words have the complete opposite effect onme. I’m surprised by how much I mightenjoythat.
“If I thought for even a second you’d allow that, I’d give it a shot,” he says with a cheeky grin that lights my blood on fire. “Come on.”
He waves me over, and I follow on unsteady legs as he leads me to a room in the back. He flicks on the first of the light switches, bathing the room in a soft glow. Six tiny, backless stools are set up behind pottery wheels.
Elijah looks so at ease in this place, setting me up at the centre wheel while he gathers supplies and lays them out before me. He lifts the lid off a giant grey rubbish bin filled with clay.
He carries himself with a quiet confidence that boasts just how comfortable he is in this space. Once everything is ready, he takes a seat behind me.
“You’ll use this pedal to increase the speed of the wheel. Start very slow. You don’t want it flying all over the place,” he says, pressing it a few times. He picks up a cup of water with an orange sponge inside. “We’ll use this to keep the clay moist so it remains pliable, and then, towards the end, we can use it to smooth the edges. Don’t add too much water or it’ll ruin the texture, alright?”
I nod, my nose scrunching at how easily I could mess this up.
“Quit getting in your head about it,” he says with a low chuckle that tightens my core for reasons unknown to me. “You don’t have to get this right the first, second, third, or fourth time. There’s no rush and no need for perfection. Just let your mind wander and fall into the movement.”
“Easier said than done,” I grunt out.
He shifts so he’s seated with his arms outstretched, resting over mine, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Is it okay if I show you like this?” he asks, his voice low and husky, his warm breath catching the side of my neck as it caresses my skin and goose bumps rise along my flesh.
“Mm-hm.” Words evade me as he leans in closer, taking my hands in his and pressing the taut muscles of his chest to my back.This has zero reason to feel as erotic as it does.
He places our hands over the cool, wet clay, my fingers dipping into it, nose scrunching at the sensation.
“Good, now press the pedal,” he whispers against my overheated flesh, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think his lips were wrapped around my clit with how hot my body is becoming. My foot twitches, pressing down on the pedal, but I’m too lost in the sensation of his body wrapped around mine and the scent of cinnamon on his breath to focus on what I’m doing.
He shifts closer, and I swear I feel the thick ridge of his cock pressing into my back. My eyelids flutter closed as an unfamiliar, all-consuming need burrows into my belly. I press the pedal with too much force, gasping as clay flies off the wheel. “Sorry!” I yelp, cringing at the sight.
“That’s okay,” he says, shaking with laughter as he stands. He walks around the room to pick up more clay, securing us another heap from the bin. My eyes catch on his rock-hard length, tucked into the waistband of his shorts, and my core clenches with need.Fuck.
“Do you often walk around with boners the size of The Shard?” I ask, the words escaping before I can stop them.
He glances down at the offending appendage, shrugging before taking his seat behind me. “Sort of, yeah.”
I flick my gaze over my shoulder at him, levelling him with a questioning stare. His cheeks flame bright pink, but he keeps his eyes on mine. “I’ve been forced to live with a hard-on since the very first night I laid eyes on you. I guess I’ve just gotten used to hiding it, and you hadn’t noticed before,” he explains with an innocent shrug.
I snap back to face the wheel, my ears ringing at his admission. “Is it still okay if I show you the way I had been? We can try a different way if you’re uncom?—”
“It’s fine. Let’s start again,” I urge him, desperate to have his arms around me.
We continue like this for several tension-filled minutes, his large body enveloping mine as he talks me through the motions of creating a hole in the centre of the clay, dipping our thumbs into it, and guiding it into the shape we want. As the heaviness dissipates, I sag against him, allowing him to hold me up as our hands work the clay exactly as he taught me.
“So good,” he praises, a husky whisper against the shell of my ear.
“Would this be the part in one of your smutty romance novels where you’d call me a good girl?”
“You know, Adhira, I’d never taken you for someone with a praise kink, but now, I think I can see it.” He leans forward, taking up every inch of my space, pressing a hot kiss to my pounding pulse. His lips trail a path over my neck, and my lips pinch together as I hold my moan captive. “If it’s any consolation for my misgivings, I happen to think you’re averygood girl.”
Oh, good God.
“I think you stole my line,” I tell him, keeping my voice as strong as I can manage, but the words come out as a rasp.
“And how is that?” he asks, neither of us noticing that the wheel has stopped, completely absorbed in the moment.
“Because—” I twist in my seat to face him, smirking as I cup his cheek, his eyes growing wide, “you aresucha good boy, Elijah. You won’t even punish me for that.” I wipe my clay-covered fingers on his stubble, spring from the stool, and sprint out of the room.
