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I can’t see her body, but the shape of her is clear, a perfect silhouette.
She’s curvy and smooth and a perfect fucking woman.
And that woman stops moving, hesitating where she stands for who the hell knows what reason, and my body plays games on me, tenses and flexes and aches, anticipation fucking burning me at my core.
It only lasts for a moment though, and then the squeak of the shower door sounds, her figure disappearing as she steps inside.
My eyes close, and I tune into the sound of the water falling, to the way it pours harder and then softer, allowing me to create a visual of her exact movements in my head. Before I realize what I’m doing, my muscles lock up on me, my eyelids popping open to find my dick hard and in my hand.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, and I squeeze my shaft, desperate to ease the ache the mere thought of Meyer has created. I groan, pumping myself in my hand once, twice, and my head falls back.
I picture the hollow of her breasts and the width of her hips, of her perky ass and imagine the silky soft feeling of sliding between it.
My dick throbs, my breath hitching as I thrust into my hand, but then my body freezes and I jolt up, my hands flying to my head and rubbing along my face.
Too mortified to spin my body, I cut my eyes toward that second room where a little one sleeps.
Shame washes over me, and I dart toward the small, second sink, quickly splashing water on my face.
I smack my forehead as I grip the countertop, bending at the waist.
Dragging in a deep breath, I stand, spinning on my feet. Right as I do, the bathroom door swings open, and Meyer steps out.
And fuck me, an old T-shirt never looked so good. One that’s too long for me to know what, if anything, is underneath.
Her hair is down and slung to one side over her chest, the tips dripping wet, right where her nipples are peeking through.
She jerks to a stop when she realizes I’m right here, no more than two feet in front of her, and those brown eyes of hers rise.
A nervous little laugh follows. “You scared me.”
My fingers ache to touch her, to pull her closer, and I think she knows it, because the corner of her eyes crease the smallest bit.
She’s afraid, but not of me, of what might happen next.
Her tongue pokes out, anxiously swiping across her lips, and suddenly I’m hard again.
“It’s getting late, we should really get to bed,” she barely whispers.
She has no idea the effectiveness her accidental tone holds, it’s rich and throaty, sexy. An unintentional hint of her not so well-hidden desire.
She’s feelin’ me, and I want her to give in.
To take, ‘cause, fuck me, I’m ready to give.
I’ll give her anything she wants if she lays those lips on mine.
I’ll do all the work. I just need her to make the move.
Make the move, baby...
She doesn’t. Instead, turning her body so she can slip past me without so much as brushing me. But before she can disappear into her room, I spin, darting my hand out to grab ahold of her wrist, keeping her there.
I can’t bring myself to turn toward her, not if dismissal is what I’ll find, so while staring at the place she was, I say, “Tell me you like me.”
When her wrist twitches in my palm, my eyes snap to meet hers, though my body remains facing away.
“Tobias ...” Her shoulders pinch.
“Just ...” Fuck. Now I do spin toward her, stepping in but not over the threshold of our connecting doors. “At least tell me you don’t hate being here.”
She softens before me. At her side, her hand begins reaching out for me, maybe even subconsciously, because at the last second she realizes it, lowering it right back to her side.
“I don’t hate being here,” she murmurs, her chin lowering as her eyes hold mine.
I don’t miss the hint of color that’s risen along her neck, or the way her toes begin to curl into the carpet beneath her feet.
My smirk is slow. “You like being here, don’t you?”
Her laugh is husky and low, and a small grin now plays at her lips. “Good night, Hotshot.”
I bite at mine, unwilling to take my eyes off of her. “‘Night, Tutor Girl.”
You’ll be the star of my show tonight.
CHAPTER 19
Tobias
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Meyer sets the textbook face down, careful not to lose the page we’re on.
“It’s almost eight.”
“I know, I’m sorry, she usually falls back asleep by now.” She glances over at her playpen, and little mama’s eyes are just beginning to close. “Once she’s out, this will go a little faster. We should have a least an hour uninterrupted.”
