I hitch her up my body, cupping her ass as I shift one of my thighs between hers. She rubs against me, squeezing her legs as I work my hand inside her jacket.
The whole time, I’m exploring her mouth, finding out what strokes make her wriggle, what licks make her moan.
My fingers find her waist, her ribs, and I follow the path up to her breast. Through the thin fabric of her shirt I can feel lace and structured fabric. She’s wearing a fancy bra.
My cock throbs at the second-base promise of silk and satin.
But not tonight. I keep sliding my hand, up over her nipple, ignoring her breathless protest as I cup the nape of her neck. I deepen the kiss one last time and pull away, ignoring how wet and shiny her mouth is—if I think about that for even a second, I’ll be a goner. “Good night, Ms. Reid.”
She presses her fingers to her lips, a smile playing behind the long, slim digits. “Good night, Mr. Mayfair,” she whispers, her eyes dancing.
We stand there, frozen, until she giggles and I step back. She turns and lets herself in, and I let myself ogle her sweet ass peaking out beneath her jacket until she’s inside the apartment building and the door closes in my face.
My phone vibrates as I walk away from her building. I turn around once I’m across the street and look up. Her apartment is dark, then the window brightens a bit as she opens the door. I look down at my phone. The text message is from her.
A: 1/2
That’s it. But then another bubble appears, and I realize she’s sent me a photo text, it’s just taking its sweet-ass time to load.
It’s a selfie, taken in the stairwell. She’s giving the camera a little smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Does she regret sending me away? She was right to, of course. But damn it if I don’t want to be upstairs with her right now.
1/2…One of two…
I stand there and wait for the second photo. My attention is divided between my phone, still working away with the download, and the two windows of her apartment—she walked through the dark living space and now she’s in her small bedroom. I can picture the room. Her closet, already overflowing with clothes. That little double bed, pushed into the corner, with the faded quilt and basic cotton sheets.
The standing mirror, where I can picture her looking at herself as she gets dressed.
As she gets undressed.
As she touches herself, maybe, because she’s a girl that sends me pictures, so maybe she’s a girl who watches herself get off.
I’m jealous of that mirror, for getting a daily glimpse at her soft, lithe body.
It’s been offered to you, jackass. Over and over again, and I keep turning her down. And then tonight, if I hadn’t pushed my luck and shown my hand, shown how desperate I am for her, I could have had another offer.
One of these days, she’s going to offer, and I’m going to take every inch she gives me and then some.
Then the second picture comes in.
A: 2/2
And it’s hot as f*ck
. Skin, everywhere. Nothing exposed, nothing that would end up in the tabloids—she’s learned that lesson well. One arm over her breasts, one leg twisted up to cover what I already know is the sweetest p*ussy
in the entire f*ck
ing world.
Her tongue, caught between her teeth.
But it’s the look on her face that does me in. Naked, unvarnished need, and I’m swearing under my breath, because my heart is already across the street and punching in her security code, and that can’t happen.
One of these days just might have been tonight, if I wasn’t stupid.
S: I deserve to go home and have a cold shower. You’re f*ck
ing gorgeous. I’ll be less of an ass tomorrow.
A: Then maybe we can hang out tomorrow nite
S: I’m going to hold you to that
A: Hold me however you want…once you’re out of the doghouse
f*ck
. I shake my head and laugh as I head back to my vehicle.
—fifteen—
Alison
I wait until the next day to message Corey. I’m tempted not to at all, but we’ve got another month of class together, and I don’t want it to be more awkward than it needs to be.
He doesn’t reply.
That’s fine.
I get some reading in over breakfast, then Hailey texts and asks me if I want to go to yoga with her and Tegan. I pass, but it reminds me that the most cardio I’ve done in a week is grinding against Scott’s leg last night, and I throw on my running shoes. I kept off the freshman fifteen by diligently logging the miles, but in the last year and a half, my running has fallen down the priority list.
Those ramen noodles won’t work themselves off.
When I get home, I throw myself into the shower, which makes me think of Scott last night. He’d said he’d go home and take a cold shower.
I hope he didn’t. I hope he got himself off instead. My skin flushes, nothing to do with the hot water beating down on me, as I picture him naked. Hard. Holding himself.