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She leans backward, sinking into my touch.
Melting into me.
Fuck, it feels too good touching her like this.
I want more of it.
All of it.
Her eyelids press together. Her head tilts to one side. Her teeth sink into her lip.
Desire spreads over her expression.
I force myself to pull away. "Keep practicing. You'll get it."
She nods.
"Take this home." I motion to the gun. "Do a hundred by next Monday."
"A hundred stars?"
"Yeah. On bananas. Send me a pic of each one."
"Won't that be—"
"Boring as all hell? Yeah. If you're dying, you can switch to hearts or spades."
"Okay." She wraps her fingers around the gun then holds it flat against her palm. "This is really mine?"
"Yeah. You gotta swear something to me, sunshine."
Her voice is dead serious. "Of course."
"Fruit only."
She nods.
I stand. Offer her my hand. When she takes it, I pull her closer.
I pull her too close.
She's right there.
My hand goes to her hip. Rests there for a split second, until common sense gets the better of me.
Honestly, I'm not sure where this reserve of logic and will power is coming from. I was this close to calling her and demanding she come for my listening pleasure Saturday night.
Fuck. I can't think about this shit when she's this close.
I take a step backward. "You can head home early today. Get started practicing this."
"Sure." Her ass brushes my crotch as she moves past me. She stops at the doorframe. Turns to me. "Thanks, Dean."
Her voice is soft. Sweet.
This is about work, but, fuck, it doesn't feel like that.
It feels like I'm the only thing she wants.
