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She obviously hasn’t noticed me sitting on the other side of the room, which isn’t something I can usually bask in. Women always notice me, whether I’m walking along a crowded sidewalk or at a show. I can’t count the number of times a bra has been chucked at the stage for me, or how many women have messaged me after a concert to say they broke up with their boyfriends—some girlfriends too—for me.
I’ve been told I have a gravitational force surrounding me. One woman even wrote me a poem about it.
Not Pumpkin. As my sister so lovingly put it the other day, Pia is immune to the charms of Elijah Hastings.
Too intrigued to be offended by her lack of awareness, I use it to my advantage. I place my guitar against the wall next to me, twist at my waist, and set my feet on the floor as stealthily as possible.
As I inch toward the table, Pia’s attention is glued to the white document on her screen, and she wiggles in her seat like she’s dancing along to whatever music is blasting through the headphones. Is it one of my songs?
The thought draws a low groan from deep in my chest, especially when her seated dance moves cause the thin silky material covering her thighs to ride higher.
If I look closely enough, I could see what color underwear she’s wearing—or if she’s wearing any at all. She doesn’t seem like the type to go commando to bed, but the idea grabs hold of my dick and tugs.
With one more excruciating step, I get close enough to read the words on the computer, and when I do, my jaw drops.
If I was getting hard before, I’m uncomfortably stiff in record time now.
“You want it rough, baby? Is that how you need me to fuck you?”
I read the line over and over, and it takes extra strength to drag my eyes away to read the rest of what she’s writing. I rake my gaze over her slouched form to ensure this is still, in fact, Pumpkin Pia—the same one who can’t even handle fall drinks, let alone a rough cock.
He thrusts into my tight channel, and I moan in his mouth.
Slick skin meets mine as he drives into me from behind, beads of sweat trailing down my spine until it’s wiped away by his chiseled abs.
“Fuck me harder.”
Pumpkin’s fingers fly over the keyboard faster than my breathing as I skim more of the racy words she types. How is she not bursting into flames right now? Isn’t this a sin for her kind?
I figured her good-girl type would get down on her knees only to pray, but this… this suggests she’d do it for other reasons.
Before, I would’ve bet someone as skittish as her never even gets herself off. That she wouldn’t know how.
But this is a complete mind fuck.
Licking my lips, I lean in closer until the feminine smell of her coconut shampoo fills every sense. I’m so stunned and tense and engrossed that I don’t immediately realize she’s whirled around to face me.
She removes the headphones from her ears in slow motion, although I’m sure she does it faster than I can register the movement. Right now, I’m blinded by bright stars and cursed with blue balls.
I will be jerking off in the shower later, no doubt.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps and spins back around in her seat to slap the laptop closed.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke it.
“What are you doing?” I ask and start to straighten my posture, but I stop myself.
If I stand up any straighter, my very aroused dick would be right in her face.
Which is not something I should even be thinking about, let alone enjoying. I should be imagining anything but playing out the scene she just wrote.
I guess what they say is true—opposites do attract.
But maybe she and I are not so different, after all.
“That’s none of your freaking business,” she huffs and swipes the laptop from the table. Clutching it to her chest, she stands and juts her chin out. “You need to learn some manners regarding personal space. You can’t just sneak up on people while they’re—” She clamps her mouth shut, and I’d give my left nut to check if she bit her tongue—with my tongue.
“While they’re what exactly?” I narrow my eyes, feeling the molten lava of lust swirling in them as it does in my lower stomach. “Writing porn?”
