"So, what do we think?" Jane, the realtor, chirped. Normally, I wasn't one for the hyper cheerleader-like energy, but even I could admit her smile was infectious. No wonder it was plastered on every bus bench in town.
"I'm interested."
"Fantastic! I think the two of you would be really happy here."
My chest warmed at the prospect of living with Clarke . . . someday soon. We weren't quite there yet.
Clarke had decided to move into Nessa and Nero's spare room, and I was doing my best not to act too butt hurt about it.
Besides, she spent most nights in my bed anyway. Even when I was on the road and she stayed back at the Roasters' offices. Two days ago, I had come home from my first ever All-Star game to find her inmybed, lying in wait while wearingmyjersey. The night had ended with me making her pancakes and her making pancakes of my face.
She smiled back at me when she caught me staring. Like she knew exactly what I was thinking about.
"Just so you know, the owners have already vacated, so I think we could get them to drop the price a little bit. And I don't want to get you too excited, but I think we might be able to talk them into covering closing costs, too."
Jane finally took a breath when her phone buzzed across the eat-in dining table. "I'm so sorry, would you mind if I take this? It's my business partner."
"Please," I told her, "go ahead."
I was already thinking about a few ways Clarke and I could pass the time while we waited, and they all involved one of the eight thousand closets in this place.
I waited until she was out of earshot before reaching for Clarke.
"So, do you think you'll buy—"
She didn't have a chance to finish her question. I grabbed her by the front of her hoodie—my hoodie, actually—and pulled her to me, slamming my mouth down on hers. She melted into me, her body going lax as I maneuvered us toward the closest wall. Only when my hands moved down and around her body to cup her luscious ass did she pull her lips away.
"What are you doing?" she asked between gasps of air. "Jane will see."
"Jane will be on the phone for at least ten minutes." I licked at her lips. "And that's more than enough time to make you come."
"Soren," she moaned.
"C'mon, let's check out the closets."
I was already half-dragging, half-carrying her down the hall to the bedroom at the back of the house, and then into the walk-in closet. If Ididbuy the house, this would be my room. And maybe, if I played my cards right, Clarke's, too.
The closet had more than enough space for what I planned to do with her, and as I had told her, it wouldn't take long.
When I skated a hand over her zipper, she swatted it away.
"C'mon, baby," I begged. I wasn't above begging when it came to Clarke. "Let me make you come. Please?"
Her lips curved up as she backed away from me.
Fuck, I know that smile.
That was her plotting smile. The one she reserved for moments like this, where she knew something that I didn't. Why did that make me so hard?
"What?" I asked.
Clarke dropping to her knees was all the answer I needed. She'd gone down on me before, several times in fact. But she hardly ever initiated it like this. Boldly, confidently. It was a fucking turn-on.
After what she had told me about her spineless, tasteless, dick-less ex-fiancé—or the STD, as I called him—the last thing I ever wanted to do was pressure her. I never pushed her to suck me off. Truly, I was just as happy to bury myself in her tight cunt or suck on her clit any day of the week. This was her show, and I was more than willing to pay VIP admission if it meant her mouth wrapped around my cock.
"Fuck, blondie. You look good on your knees."
"Remember, Soren." She tugged my boxer briefs and joggers down in one quick swoop, freeing my cock. "Ten minutes."
