shirt fell off her shoulder only to disappointingly catch on her arm.
He snapped out of it and bent for the dropped cup. He needed air. Just a few minutes of space to get his head back on his shoulders and out of his pants. He turned away and grabbed ice, hoping the cool frost from the freezer would calm his blood. It didn’t. He could smell her in the kitchen over the buttery popcorn. Even though he’d never gone there, he could swear thick honey coming from her skin coated his tongue.
He sat their glasses on the counter and she turned immediately, filling them both with tea.
Right away she took a drink and then gagged. Her eyes bulged, cheeks full. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Tiffany?”
She ran for the sink and spit it out coughing. He patted her back. “Was it bad? I just made it yesterday and it was fine.”
She turned. He couldn’t help but notice her breasts brushing his chest. His hand, that had been on her back, was now on her hip. Of the flecks of green bits in her golden eyes. Of her…sharply drawn together eyebrows.
She slapped him on the arm. “Lord, Mike. Unsweet? Jesus.”
Unsweet. That was it? The worry slipped out. Awareness of everything about her took it’s place. Unsweet tea was what he liked. He liked it even more as a bit dripped down her chin. Licking it away would be a fine idea. The sugar of her skin would blend well with the bitter tea on his tongue. Or probably it would just be her tasting good. She swiped it off with the back of her hand, taking away the idea.
Overly aware of his hand on her hip, of his fingers curling around her side and lying over the top of her ass, he pulled his hand away. And immediately regretted it. He shook his head, wishing for some clear thoughts. “I have some sweetener in the pantry.”
She remained in her spot. “Water’s fine.”
“Okay.” He stood there like a moron still. Doing nothing but staring and waiting and wanting his hands back on her. But he couldn’t put his hands back on her.
Her eyes averted and he knew the moment was about to be gone. After all these years of being frustrated by her, here was his moment. Just as fast as it came, it was gone. She scratched her ear and stepped back.
She stared off at the hardwood floors of his kitchen. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll get us started.”
He glanced down the front of him. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It’s work clothes. Go put some pajama pants on. Get comfortable. That’s the idea.”
Pajama pants. So he could sit there with a pitched tent all night? Why exactly had he mentioned not wanting to go to the bar again? This was worse. Far, Far worse.
She looked up at him. “You have to do what I say, remember?”
Like hell, but he nodded as if that was going to happen. He went to his room and changed to a pair of jeans. If he could get them both on, he’d wear two pair just to have the reinforced zipper. At the rate he was going, he’d be splitting the seams. Never in his life had he been so hard and his cock only seemed to be getting more and more interested. This was going to be one long ass night. He stripped off his nice shirt, but left his undershirt on, put his shoes away in the closet and turned to stare at the bed.
Powerless to stop it, the image of Tiffany lying there filled his head. Long blonde hair fanned over his pillows. Lean tanned legs on his white sheets. Full breasts arched toward the ceiling, nipples pebbled and wanting his mouth. Cheeks flushed. Breath gasping. His cock pounded in painful heated throbs.
He tugged at his too tight jeans. God it was a vice in there. He shuffled his legs, looking for ease, but only having it build up to more. His balls were stuffed and squeezed. He leaned on his dresser, aching for relief, but not gaining any. Gut twisted and sweat coated him.
He reached for his jeans again. Tugged the zipper away from him and stroked his palm down his cock. His vision blurred for a bit, a small breath
He snapped out of it and bent for the dropped cup. He needed air. Just a few minutes of space to get his head back on his shoulders and out of his pants. He turned away and grabbed ice, hoping the cool frost from the freezer would calm his blood. It didn’t. He could smell her in the kitchen over the buttery popcorn. Even though he’d never gone there, he could swear thick honey coming from her skin coated his tongue.
He sat their glasses on the counter and she turned immediately, filling them both with tea.
Right away she took a drink and then gagged. Her eyes bulged, cheeks full. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Tiffany?”
She ran for the sink and spit it out coughing. He patted her back. “Was it bad? I just made it yesterday and it was fine.”
She turned. He couldn’t help but notice her breasts brushing his chest. His hand, that had been on her back, was now on her hip. Of the flecks of green bits in her golden eyes. Of her…sharply drawn together eyebrows.
She slapped him on the arm. “Lord, Mike. Unsweet? Jesus.”
Unsweet. That was it? The worry slipped out. Awareness of everything about her took it’s place. Unsweet tea was what he liked. He liked it even more as a bit dripped down her chin. Licking it away would be a fine idea. The sugar of her skin would blend well with the bitter tea on his tongue. Or probably it would just be her tasting good. She swiped it off with the back of her hand, taking away the idea.
Overly aware of his hand on her hip, of his fingers curling around her side and lying over the top of her ass, he pulled his hand away. And immediately regretted it. He shook his head, wishing for some clear thoughts. “I have some sweetener in the pantry.”
She remained in her spot. “Water’s fine.”
“Okay.” He stood there like a moron still. Doing nothing but staring and waiting and wanting his hands back on her. But he couldn’t put his hands back on her.
Her eyes averted and he knew the moment was about to be gone. After all these years of being frustrated by her, here was his moment. Just as fast as it came, it was gone. She scratched her ear and stepped back.
She stared off at the hardwood floors of his kitchen. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll get us started.”
He glanced down the front of him. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It’s work clothes. Go put some pajama pants on. Get comfortable. That’s the idea.”
Pajama pants. So he could sit there with a pitched tent all night? Why exactly had he mentioned not wanting to go to the bar again? This was worse. Far, Far worse.
She looked up at him. “You have to do what I say, remember?”
Like hell, but he nodded as if that was going to happen. He went to his room and changed to a pair of jeans. If he could get them both on, he’d wear two pair just to have the reinforced zipper. At the rate he was going, he’d be splitting the seams. Never in his life had he been so hard and his cock only seemed to be getting more and more interested. This was going to be one long ass night. He stripped off his nice shirt, but left his undershirt on, put his shoes away in the closet and turned to stare at the bed.
Powerless to stop it, the image of Tiffany lying there filled his head. Long blonde hair fanned over his pillows. Lean tanned legs on his white sheets. Full breasts arched toward the ceiling, nipples pebbled and wanting his mouth. Cheeks flushed. Breath gasping. His cock pounded in painful heated throbs.
He tugged at his too tight jeans. God it was a vice in there. He shuffled his legs, looking for ease, but only having it build up to more. His balls were stuffed and squeezed. He leaned on his dresser, aching for relief, but not gaining any. Gut twisted and sweat coated him.
He reached for his jeans again. Tugged the zipper away from him and stroked his palm down his cock. His vision blurred for a bit, a small breath
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