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“If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to assume you’re doing it on purpose,” he drawls, his arms around me squeezing.
I rub my cheek on his chest. “Doing what on purpose?”
“Falling.”
“Why would I do that on purpose?”
“So I could catch you.”
I kiss his dead heart and look up. “Maybe I am.”
He narrows his eyes at me as he squeezes me tighter and mutters, “Pain in the ass.”
That I am and I’m going to become even more of a pain now.
“You’re smoking,” I tell him as I watch tendrils of smoke snake out of his gorgeous mouth.
“You’re late.”
“Why are you smoking?”
“Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
We have and that’s why I ask, my eyebrows raised, “So what are you trying to forget tonight?”
He stares down at me for a beat before growling, “We lost.”
“The game?”
The clench of his jaw is my answer.
I raise my hand to cup his sharp cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“We had it,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “We almost had it. It went into overtime and they had Rodriguez in the penalty shootout. It should’ve been me. I should’ve been there, taking that shot. And now we’re out for the season. I –”
“Hey, hey,” I cut him off, rising up on my tiptoes. “You will be there. You will do it. You just have to hold on for a little while.” His jaw pulses under my palm and his eyes burn bright with anger, with self-hatred and I kiss his hot, smoking lips, trying to soften him up. “So will you please put out your cigarette so I can give you the gift I brought for you?”
Arrow simply watches me for a few seconds before the aggression leaches out of his body and he asks, “You brought me a gift?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not a poem, is it?”
I swat his chest and a soft chuckle escapes him. “No, you idiot. Just help me up.”
Again, he stares at me a beat before throwing his cigarette away and boosting me up and soon, I’m climbing over his body, my thighs around his slim waist and my arms clutching his shoulders.
But that’s not the exciting part.
The exciting part is when he notices.
That I’ve broken his rule.
His hands grab my naked thighs, before inching up and covering the cheeks of my ass.
Bare cheeks.
“You’re wearing a skirt,” he growls, this time laced with sexual, dominating intent rather than anger.
Good.
At least he’s not focusing on lost games.
I bite my lip and squirm in his lap, my bare pussy – I’m not wearing my thong tonight too – rubbing up against his t-shirt. “I know. I’m breaking one of your rules. So you can punish me if you like. But. Gift first!” I go fishing for his gift in my jacket pocket and produce it with a flourish. “That’s why I was late. Because I stopped to bring this for you.”
He doesn’t look at it right away.
In fact, he stares into my eyes as he parts the cheeks of my ass with punishing fingers and when I bite my lip, only then does he glance down at my offering – a little flower, a gardenia, with a tiny green stem that I clipped for him from the garden.
“You brought me a flower,” he rumbles, lifting his eyes.
I nod. “Yes. It’s the official flower of St. Mary’s, which you already know. But did you know that it also stands for purity and innocence?”
And secret love.
It also stands for secret love. But I’m not going to tell him that. Because this isn’t about love, what we have. This is about making him feel better, even for a little while.
Instead of taking the flower, Arrow grabs a fistful of my ass and bounces me in his lap. “Purity and innocence.”
I undulate against him shamelessly, trying to hold on to the flower with my trembling fingers. “Yes.”
He bounces me again, causing an ache in my clit. “Yeah, I can see that. How innocent you look right now, giving me this flower. No bra. No panties. Nothing to cover up your perky, bouncing tits and your out-of-control pussy.” He leans forward and bites my lower lip. “How innocent you looked last night, in my bed, when you gave up that flower between your legs.”
I shudder. “Uh-huh. Totally. Innocent. But no one calls it a flower, Arrow.”
“No? So what is it called then?”
His casual question is accompanied by a very casual flick of his thumb along the crease of my ass, making me moan.
But somehow, I manage to answer him demurely. “The p-word.”
“Ah, the p-word.” His thumb still moves up and down my crease. “Peach, you mean.”
I shake my head and bite his lip. “You know what I mean, asshole. Stop teasing me and take my flower.”
He chuckles then before snatching my mouth in a kiss and bringing his thumb down to my soppy pussy where he wreaks havoc on my clit. He doesn’t let go until I climax.
