He was coming.
He was actually coming, without so much as a hand on himself. And so hard, too. God, she had never seen any man come the way he did. She’d never seen any man shudder like that, violently enough that it rocked the table. Or arch their back as he did—in one long, sinuous roll that left him sprawled against the chair.
It was incredible.
Too incredible, if she was being honest about it. Because even though she tried to stay calm, she knew she wasn’t at all. She couldfeel how flushed she was. She could see her hands shaking. And even though neither of those things meant much on their own, she knew the sound she made did. Because it wasn’t surprise, or amusement, or encouragement.
It was excitement, plain and simple.
It had excited her to think of him like that.
And there was no undoing that now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She didn’t know what to do in the aftermath of whatever that was. It felt like she should apologize, for pushing him so far, and feeling things she was pretty sure she shouldn’t have felt. Only somehow, he got there first.
“Oh my god, Cassie, I am so sorry. I cannot believe I just did all that in front of you,” he fumbled out. Then he shoved his chair back so hard it shrieked on the linoleum. And before she could stop him, he staggered almost drunkenly out of the kitchen.
He’s gonna wolf out when he crosses that threshold, she thought, panicked.
But he didn’t. He just disappeared into the bathroom by the stairs. She heard the lock on the door snap shut. Followed by silence.
And more silence.
And so much more silence after this, she started to think he might have done something worse than wolf out.He could have died of shame, she thought. After all, that was what he’d said, wasn’t it? That his lust was shameful? Then he’d released a lot of lust, courtesy of her potty mouth, and so now here they were.
With him probably trying to escape out the bathroom window.
And her unable to decide how to fix the situation. Or, if she was being honest, to get up from the chair to even attempt fixing it. Because seriously, it was at least half an hour later, and she still felt dazed. She still felt hot, and sort of wobbly. Like everything she’d seen and heard had affected her, to a far greater degree than she’d let herself believe.
You were supposed to be helping, not getting hot for him, she chided herself. Though really, when you broke it down, was getting hot forhimwhat had happened?Anyonewould probably have gotten into this state under those circumstances.
And especially if they’d had the sex life she’d endured.
It had been years since she’d done anything with anyone.
Plus none of the people she’d been with had ever done what Seth had a moment ago.
They had never moved like that, with such complete abandon. Never said those words as heatedly as he had. And they’d definitely never made those sounds.
Usually she got little more than a faint grunt. Or even no grunt at all.
So even though she couldn’t quite excuse herself, she sort of felt that this level of heat was to be expected. And if it continued when she finally stood, and went to the bathroom door, and knocked and asked him if he was okay… well, that was understandable too.
Because, sure, it was awkward to do it. It should have brought an end to any sexy feelings. But you really had to take into account the ratio of hot events to embarrassing ones. So far hotness was 99 percent of the last hour. Embarrassing events were thirty seconds.
Less than thirty seconds, really, because he answered right away.
“Yeah, totally good, no problems here,” he said, in a voice that sounded a little ragged and strained, but otherwise okay. So it made sense that the heat did not appear to be going away. Or even increased a little, when he added, “Do you by any chance have a pair of pants that might fit me? I seem to have made an absolutely ridiculous amount of mess here.”
Though little was probably an understatement.
In truth, it went through her like lightning. She almost had to bite back a moan.
But it was fine, it was fine. She had just made the mistake of picturing what he was suggesting, that was all. She’d thought about his come, all thick and slippery and copious, completely coatingthe insides of his thighs. Then getting all over his hands as he tried to tug down his jeans, and—
“I think I might have a pair of sweatpants, hold on,” she burst out, and dashed to grab them before her own thoughts could go any further. Before she could cross any more of those lines than she already had.
