“Hey,” she sings, snapping me from her ass and the hellish thoughts in my head. “I’m making that pasta recipe I saw on social media. Do you want some?”
I adjust my posture to hide my hard-on. “Sure.”
Her curious gaze remains on me. “Are you okay?”
“Ye”—I clear my throat—“yeah, I’m good. Why?”
“You’re acting squirrelly-er than usual,” she says. “I was going to come get you when it was done. I figured you were too deep in work to notice you were hungry.”
She shouldn’t talk about me getting deep right now. “I was. Thank you for noticing.”
With a smirk, she turns back to the food. “Come try this.”
I think she is going to hand me the spoon, but she holds it out to me instead. She’s standing too close to me. I take a bite and taste nothing. She has all my senses captive. I can smell her as much as the pasta, imagine the space at the base of her jaw fitting my mouth perfectly if I went in for a taste ofher.
“What is it missing?” she asks.
“Nothing. You’re—it’sperfect.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, fine. A pinch more salt and some red pepper flakes.”
“Oh, for real?”
“The pepper will bring out the tomatoes’ acidity over their sweetness.”
She turns back to the pot, grinning to herself. “I love when you nerd out over food.”
And I love the way you sound when you—I need to stop. The thought of getting her naked doesn’t outweigh the thought of me spiraling out after I do.
“How, um, how was your day yesterday?” I stumble over my thoughts of sex while trying to ask a simple question. Her eyes scan over me before she turns back to the pasta. “What?”
“Real talk?” she confirms.
“Real talk.”
“I . . . kind of saw your dick.”
My jaw drops to the floor, eyes flaring wide. Every insecurity I have flies through my mind. “What? When? How?” Panic. Pure panic.
“When you were getting ready to shower yesterday. I just got back from my walk and was trying to say hi, then I realized you were taking your pants off. It was an accident, but I saw it. Most of it.Enough of it. Whatever. I saw it.”
In my shock, I overcorrect, blurting out, “I heard you masturbating.”
Now she’s the one with eyes threatening to fall out of her head. “What?” Her question is more of a high-pitched squeak.
“While I was supposed to be in the shower. I was going to grab my conditioner and . . .”
She turns back to the pasta, and her cheeks have a warmer undertone than usual. “That issomuch worse than seeing your dick.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely. You have a nice dick. And I have no idea what sounds come out of me when I come.”
The memory does nothing to help the situation in my pants. “You sound . . . fine.”
“Fine?” She cocks an eyebrow. “I sound like a piglet or something, don’t I?”
