I forced myself to stay in place. “Read the comments on the videos I reposted on your accounts. I’m sure they’ll inflate your ego until your head doesn’t fit through the doorway.”
His handsome face twisted in horror. “I’d rather butt-scooch my naked ass down Hollywood Boulevard during peak tourist season than look at a comment section.” His expressionsmoothed out just as fast, and he added a chin jerk to the two fingers as he tried again. “Anyway, I don’t care what other people think. I care whatyouthink.”
How the hell am I supposed to say no to that?
I was already in the process of standing when I added a condition. “I need to keep working.”
“Of course.”
“I really need to finish this tonight.”
“No problem.”
“That means no distracting me.”
Lifting both hands, he gave a forced innocent smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
This is a bad idea.
I did it anyway.
As soon as I was within arm’s reach, Tripp grabbed me and yanked me down onto his lap. It wasn’t close enough for him, and as he kissed me, he repositioned us so he was slouched, and I was straddling him.
With just his basketball shorts and my own thin shorts and panties separating us, it would be so easy to slide the meager fabric out of the way. As it was, I was likely leaving a wet spot as he gripped my hips to grind me harder against him.
Embarrassing, yes, but not enough to make me stop.
I thought he would take it further. I hoped he would. But after only a few minutes of intense making out, he shifted me offhim so I was lying on the couch. He moved, too, and my pulse jumped in my throat and my clit, but he didn’t follow me down. He simply arranged some pillows behind my back to prop me up before handing me my laptop. When he was done, he returned to his spot to stretch my legs over his lap.
Then, he casually picked up his papers and started reading.
Reading!
Like I wasn’t a restless, needy mess.
“Tripp,” I started before he shot me a ruthless glare as his nostrils flared. I quickly corrected myself. “Sir.”
He jabbed a finger toward my computer. “Work.”
“I can take a break.”
“No.”
“Or finish tomorrow.”
“You have brunch tomorrow that you’ll enjoy a helluva lot more without this hanging over your head.”
He was right.
He also sounded a lot like me when I talked to Maddie.
Although according to her, she no longer had a procrastination problem.
We’d apparently swapped personalities.
With a resigned sigh, I leaned to drag the table closer so I could see my notes, and his grip on my legs tightened preventatively like he thought I was going to move.
I was stubborn, not stupid.
