I'd just rather she be naked when she does it.
Inside the room, I toss my bag on the ground and flop down into the seat across from her. She pointedly ignores me for, like, ten minutes straight, and we sit in silence. It's like a game of chicken to see which of us caves first.
I finally do, which is my version of an apology. "If you want to just sit there staring at me, I can undress again."
Cassie rolls her eyes hard, then asks, "How did your English exam go?"
Her voice is crisp and businesslike, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between us.
As if I didn't show up to her apartment with a cock bouquet.
As if she didn't totally send me a pussy to jerk off with. Hello, obvious signal there.
As if I didn't just watch her stare at my dick in the locker room.
As if she's not sitting across from me in a sleeveless form-fitting button-down shirt that displays the top of her cleavage. And a skirt that makes her ass look fucking fantastic. I should know, because I watched it enough on the way over here.
"Are we going to keep up this charade?" I ask.
She avoids eye contact, pulling a notebook out of her bag. She already has a notebook on the table. "I thought you didn't use big words."
"You were checking me out in the locker room."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she spits back, opening her laptop. Her fingers are moving, clicking on something, but I don't think she's looking at anything.
"I'm talking about the fact that your eyes were glued to me," I say. "If you want, I can take these pants off and remind you what you were looking at."
"Thanks, but I had a late lunch. I'm hoping not to vomit it up today."
"You should eat something to settle your stomach," I suggest. "I hear candy penises are good for that. The real thing is much better.”
She narrows her eyes as she looks at me. "How did you do on your exam?"
"Why are you avoiding answering my question?" I ask.
"You're avoiding telling me how you did," she answers, her voice professional.
"First, admit you were checking me out, and then I'll tell you how I did on my exam," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
She rolls her eyes. "You're delusional if you think I was checking you out." But her cheeks flush pink and she bites the corner of her lip, the thing she seems to do when she's uncomfortable. Or turned on, I think. It's her tell. She'd be a terrible poker player.
God, I love watching her try to lie.
"You're the world's worst liar," I say. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.
"I'm not lying," she insists.
"Yes you are." I stand up and cross to the side of the table, closer to her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm coming over here because I want a closer look," I say, my voice thick.
"To see if I'm lying? That's ridiculous."
"Sure, that too."
The flush on her cheeks isn't going away.
She stands up. I think she might be about to kick me out of here for being exceedingly inappropriate. Or kick me right in the balls.
It's worth the risk.
She smooths the part of her skirt that had bunched up when she was sitting down. But I liked it before she started pulling it down, the way it exposed her perfect thighs.
Thighs I'd love to feel squeezing my head.
"Don't do that," I say.
Standing up has the effect of putting her inches away from me, but I don't step back from her. "Don't do what?" she asks.
"Pull down the skirt. I like your legs. I like the skirt. I'd like it even better if it were up around your waist."
"You can't say that," she says, except her gaze doesn't leave mine, and she doesn't move. She could move around me if she wanted to. There's enough space in here for her to simply walk away.
If she wanted to.
What she couldn't hide, even if she'd wanted to, was that sharp intake of breath she took before she spoke.
"I can't say what?" I ask. I can smell her light perfume, something floral and sweet.
My cock twitches at the scent. Fuck. My dick doesn't get hard at the smell of some girl's perfume. That's never happened before.
Except with her.
"You can't say... things like that," she says softly. Her voice is nearly a whisper, and she looks at me, her eyes pleading.
"I can't say that I'd like to slide that skirt up your thighs?" I ask, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. It's still an innocent gesture, something that can be excused as friendly. I haven't crossed a line with her yet that can't be uncrossed.
When I touch her, her eyes close lightly and her lips fall open. Fuck, she turns into my touch. This girl hasn't been touched in a long time, that much is obvious.
"No," she whispers. "You shouldn't say that."
"I shouldn't do a lot of things." I run my finger lightly across her cheek and down her jawline. "Like say that I'd like to pull that skirt up around your waist and sit you down in that chair and spread your legs."