“Whatcha doing?”
I choke on the spit sliding down my throat when he replies, “I’m going to kiss you,” as his sexy dark eyes dance between mine. “I’ve been dying to kiss you since you murmured my name when I carried you upstairs to my room. I’ve been dying to kiss you since you skidded across the tiles in my living room because you were trying to sneak out without saying goodbye—” I attempt to interrupt him, but him tugging my wrist until I straddle his lap stops me. “I’ve also been dying to kiss you since I spotted the cutest pool of tzatziki sauce in the corner of your plump lips, but I was waiting, hoping you’d make the first move so you wouldn’t think I was a dirty old man who brings home drunk college girls with the hope of making out with them on my three-thousand-dollar couch.”
Threethousanddollar couch?
Believing he’s showing off, I say, “Youarea dirty old man hoping to make out with a college girl.”
He continues talking as if I didn’t speak, but the curve of his lips as they arrow toward mine reveals he took my comment as me being playful. “But your speech inspired me. If you want something, you’ve got to go for it, right? No matter the consequences.”
My breath fans his mouth when I reply, “That’s right.” When I breathe in and out three times to settle the ruckus in my stomach, my nipples brush against his chest. His eyes when he stares up at me—my god, they’re enough to unleash a tsunami of butterflies ripping through my gut. “Is this what you want, E? A kiss? A couch grind-up? More?”
Please say “more.” Please say “more.”
My silent prayers kind of get answered when he murmurs, “How about we start with a kiss and see where it goes from there?”
He drops his delicious mouth to mine, his tongue darting out to clear away the smudge of sauce he referenced earlier. I taste it on his tongue when he slips it between my parted lips. He kisses me fiercely, his tongue fucking my mouth as greedily as his fingers grip my ass to draw me closer. He pulls me in close enough that my earlier fear of him having a cheerio for a cock is a distant memory, but far enough away the half-inch of air between us is teasingly frustrating.
His kisses are hungry and bruising, with the perfect combination of speed and control. I’ll never forget being kissed by him, but I’ll also be begging for more long before his taste leaves my lips.
I kiss him with the same fierceness. I want to step up to the plate sooner next time, to not wait for me to make the first move.I want him to fill the last damn snippet of air between us.
“Yes,” I breathe over his mouth in a throaty groan when he answers my question by slipping his hand under my shirt to tug me in the last half-inch.
I swivel my hips and drag my skirt up my thighs without needing to remove my fingers from his shaggy mane before I execute an earth-shuddering grind down his thickened shaft. “Sweet baby Jesus. Is that thing legal?”
I stammer back with a squeal when a deep voice on our left says, “I’ve been wondering that same thing myself.” A man with more style than a straight man could pull off saunters into the room. “Any time he gets accused of using steroids, I tell him to whip out his cock.” He snaps back, holds his empty hand in the air, then clicks his finger three times.Snap, crackle, pop, Motherfucker.“Never once has he listened.”
After giving Elvis ayou’re no funlook, he continues his sashay across the room. The bag of takeout in his hand swings as heavily as the tension brewing between Elvis and me, but before I can act on it, I spot the three Blu-ray discs our interrupter is clasping in his overloaded hand. A giggle bubbles in my chest when I recognize the cover of the top Blu-ray. It’sWhat Men Wantstarring Taraji P. Henson.
Someone is eager to find out how his own specimen thinks.
After adjusting his cock so it’s no longer digging into my panties, Elvis tugs down the hem of my skirt, deposits me and my pouting backside on the spot next to him, then stands to his feet. I can’t see his face, but he’s clearly giving his uninvited guest his bestfuck-offlook as he clambers backward with his hand held in the air and his mouth gaped only two seconds later.
“It’s Sunday afternoon. We always have a movie marathon on Sundays. It’s how you recover after—”
“A long week at work.” Elvis’s tone is sterner than I’ve heard it before. “Yeah, that’s right, but I have aguestover.”
The uninvited hottie asks, “Does she not like Chinese?”
His eyes snap to mine when I groan. The last time I ate Chinese, I nearly died. “N. O. Say it isn’t so. You can’t be Willowmy farts smell like a moldy potato chip sandwichWillow. Surely not. You look nothing like the fire-breathing witch I handled last month.”
His eccentric voice fills me with happiness. Unfortunately, that’s where my giddiness ends. I thought Windy Willow was horrid, but the nickname Elvis has shared with his friends is ten times worse.
“Thank you for a great day, but I think it’s time for me to leave.”
I freeze, unsure if I am coming or going when Elvis threatens, “If your ass moves an inch off that couch, Will, I’m gonna spank it.”
Confident he has squashed my eagerness to leave, Elvis refocuses his attention on his friend. He looks as excited by Elvis’s warning as I am. “I gave you that description to ensure you delivered the goods to the right person, not to use it against her.”
“Ohhh.” The blond drops the takeout and Blu-Rays on a table at his side before kicking off his shoes. He doesn’t care how stern Elvis’s glare gets, he ain’t leaving. “I thought you wanted it included in the package.” He shrugs. “My bad?”
Elvis’s fists clench so fast, a blood vessel nearly bursts in his wrist. “You put my description in the package?!”
“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes, as if to sayduh. “How else do you think I’d find her? There were over thirteen Willows just in the co-ed dorms. I needed something to work with.”
Elvis drags his hand down his face as I finally understand. His guest is the man who brought me the pharmacy products the morning following my embarrassing escapade.
“And here I was thinking she didn’t call me because I was cracking jokes when she was five minutes from death.”
