“Well, from where I was lying, it sure looks like it.”
“Wait. Was it . . . I got naked and you got . . . what . . . shy?”
“You’re a pretty . . . intimidating guy. To look at, I mean. And I’m . . .”
“What? Perfect.”
“No,” she barked. “I’m small, and boney, and short, and—”
“Perfect.” He cut her off, switching their positions so that he lay on his back and she sat astraddle him.
Her core lined up with him perfectly, and the need to orgasm was building. She often got to this point, then backed away, embarrassed and ashamed. But with him looking at her like she was the only woman on the planet, that didn’t happen.
The need to grind clawed desperately at her resolve. With his eyes fully on her, Dred popped the button on her jeans. The word “stop” hovered in her throat. The soft vibration of the zipper being lowered brought her closer to the relief she sought. Did she want him to stop? Oh God. He pushed her jeans lower on her hips, exposing her underwear. Why the hell had she chosen the totally unsexy multicolored striped panties?
His stare burned through her, his mouth slightly open, his chest heaving. He lowered his thumb, stoking her through her panties, catching her clit. Pixie gasped, right on the edge of exploding.
She gripped his wrist, but couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to slip away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a truly wanted sexual experience. His thumb stopped moving, he released the pressure. No. That’s not what I want. How could she tell him without appearing a tease?
“Rule two,” Dred said gruffly.
He’d stop if she wanted him to. She knew it, even though his chest was flushed, his eyes heavy lidded. She wanted this man to give her something nobody else had. “Please.”
When his thumb returned to the circles, pressing firmly, sparks ignited inside her. She needed a little more . . . oh, God. His hips moved underneath her, pressing his hard length against her. Without thought, she moved against him, finding a rhythm and place where she could let go.
“Dred . . . please . . . I . . .” The pressure increased everywhere. In her core, between her legs.
“Fuck, Snowflake. Do it.” It sounded more like a command. “I want to see you come.”
And she did.
*
Watching Pixie fight against herself, and then explode against him left him teetering on the edge. That low-grade vibration in his balls wasn’t going anywhere and if she continued to rub against him, he might come in his jeans. In fact, he should. Show her how fucking hot she was.
She’d collapsed on his chest, and stayed there. If it weren’t for the occasional kiss on his chest, he’d swear she was asleep.
The clock on the wall said he was all out of hours. Thankfully there hadn’t been any more snow since yesterday morning when he’d collected her so it promised to be a quick ride to the airport. He wasn’t ready to let her go. Miami seemed like a million miles away, and their time together suddenly felt as though it had been hurried and rushed. What he really wanted to do was fall asleep with her like this and stay that way for at least a couple more days.
He patted her back. “As much as I hate to say this, we need to go.”
Pixie sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. “So soon?”
Dred sat up and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her gently. “Unfortunately, yup. Thank you. For sharing all this with me.”
Pixie smiled shyly. “I think I should be thanking you. Are you going to be okay?”
Dread laughed. “As long as you don’t have a problem with masturbation, I’ll be fine.”
“It’s been my best friend for years,” she said teasingly. “Let me get cleaned up.”
He watched her walk into his bathroom and stood, rearranging himself into a bearable potion to drive. His phone rang. Dr. Meltz.
“Hello,” he said, picking up his car keys.
“Mr. Zander. I have your results. I know you were anxious to get them.” Anxious? Understatement of the year.
Dred sat on the edge of the bed. He could hear Pixie singing, always one of those ridiculous Broadway songs. With one smile, I’m the girl next door. Or the love that you’ve hungered for.
“And?”
“The combined paternity index was slightly under thirty seven thousand to one. In other words, the probability of you being Petal Veitch’s father is ninety nine point ninety nine percent.”
I have a child. I have a child. I have a child. Fuck.
Dred hung up the phone without saying good-bye. He stormed out of the room, and pounded up the stairs to Jordan’s room, needing to be away from Pixie and the perfect afternoon they’d had. With physical space between them, perhaps he could control the raging disappointment in himself. Without knocking, he threw the door open so hard, the handle penetrated the drywall.