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“Do what?”
“Touch yourself.” She didn’t have to answer. I could tell from her darkened cheeks and the way she refused to look at me.
“Not…often,” she finally admitted.
Damn, if that didn’t make me hard again.
I leaned in and kissed her right below her ear, then moved down to her shoulder, and then back up again. The tips of my fingers grazed over the skin of her arm.
“Do you think about me when you do?”
“I don’t have to say,” she replied haughtily.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” I murmured into her ear. “That will make my job easier when you decide you want me to return the favor.”
*****
I had pretty much decided I could survive by hand jobs alone.
Tria still hadn’t gotten to the point where she would let me reciprocate, but I was definitely getting more boob time, and I now owed her six orgasms, due whenever she got comfortable with the idea of me getting my hands between her legs.
My feet pounded the cement, and the frozen vapor of my breath escaped my mouth in quick, rhythmic bursts. It had warmed up a lot in the last week, but it was still cold enough to have started my run in a hooded sweatshirt. I was nearing the end of the trek, though, and I was feeling damn hot in the thing. As soon as I got to the apartment building and did a quick cool-down walk around it, I pulled the sweatshirt over my head before walking into the hallway, still panting a little.
I heard voices from beyond the door before I opened it and was somewhat surprised to see Tria sitting on the couch with another young woman. She had a shock of bouncing red curls and a laptop computer open across her legs.
“Hiya!” Tria said with a giggle.
I had no idea what she was giggling about, so I gave her a look that was intended to ask her if she had been drinking. She just giggled again.
“This is Elissa,” she informed me. “Elissa, this is Liam.”
“Hi,” Elissa said, and her face flushed about the same color as her hair.
“Hi,” I replied hesitantly. I tossed the sweatshirt on top of my gym bag, which sat on the floor near the door. Tria rolled her eyes, and I picked it up and hung it over the back of the chair instead. Even I had to admit I was a bit of a slob, but she was trying to mend my ways.
“Elissa and I are working on a project together,” Tria informed me. “We have to do a presentation next Friday, and she has her own laptop!”
“I see that,” I said.
“It’s on the psychology of economics,” Elissa said. “Why some people choose to live below their means and others spend far more than they should.”
I raised a brow at Tria but didn’t comment.
“We’re going to do interviews,” Tria informed me, “with people who are spending way more money than they can really afford, subjecting themselves to credit card debt, and compare them with others who won’t buy the luxury car and choose to live within their means.”
“Then there are others who subject themselves to poverty,” Elissa added.
“It’s something we’ve talked about in class,” Tria said. “It’s all about socioeconomic classes and the decisions that lead to either moving yourself up or down. Are they happenstance, poor planning, or conscious choices?”
I laughed once through my nose.
“Sounds…thrilling.”
“Don’t you mock me!” Tria snapped, but she was hiding a grin.
“Who, me?” I asked, feigning innocence. “You know I just don’t understand any of that shit.”
“Whatever!”
