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And not the man who’s going to tackle her to the bed and show her how sexy she really is.
But when I walk down the hallway toward her front door, I know I’ve failed. The sound of her footsteps approaching on the other side has my heart pounding, loud in my ears, a thunderous drum-drum-drum as she draws closer.
We’re going to be alone, truly alone for the first time.
She opens the door and I repress a growl. She brings out the beastly side of me far too easily, triggering something buried deep within.
I can’t help it, not when she’s wearing PJ shorts and a baggy hoodie. The hoodie hints at the shape of her juicy breasts, but the shorts don’t need to hint. They’re not ridiculously short by any means, but the sight of her bare skin, her ample delicious-looking thighs has me fighting the urge to grip them right here.
Does she know what she’s doing to me?
“Hey.” She smiles, a little shakily, probably wondering why I’m just staring at her like a lunatic. “Do you want to, eh, come in?”
“Yes,” I say, offering what I hope is a normal smile.
“I’ve cranked the heating up. I hope that’s okay.”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” I ask as she walks ahead of me, leading me into the living room.
“Well, it’s your place. I don’t want to run up the bill.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She turns towards the living room, her ass sways back and forth in those shorts, two big round juicy points of pleasure. I find myself struggling not to charge at her and press my hands against the back of her legs, slipping them higher, under the fabric of her shorts and her panties. To squeeze down on that ass, and tighten my grip until she gifts me with a moan of pleasure…
Fuck.
It would be heaven.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
“Water’s fine,” I tell her, sitting down in an armchair.
She’s already laid out her laptop and her notes on the coffee table, reminding me that this is official business. She doesn’t know how hard my dick is as she returns to the living room, carrying two glasses.
She drops onto the couch, and then she does something that makes my head pulse, and the primal being inside of me howl and roar at me to claim her right here.
Crossing her legs, she grips onto her knees. It’s a simple thing, but the sight of her small hands buried in her flesh – the sight of her shorts pulling taut across her sex – makes it difficult to focus on anything else.
I try not to stare, but it’s difficult.
“How are you liking the place?” I ask.
She lights up, radiant, making me think of how she’ll look after she’s given birth to our child. “I love it. Honestly. I can’t say thank you enough. I wish there was some way I could repay you.”
There are countless ways she could repay me. She could bend over and show me that round beautiful ass, leaning even further as I slowly peel the fabric down, down… and then vibrate, her whole body convulsing, as I slide my hands toward her sopping soaked hole.
“It’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m happy to do it.”
She gives me a look, as though she’s thinking to ask why again. But then she nods and seems to silently decide to move on.
“Anyway, what do you think?”
I think I’d like nothing more than to stop resisting her, leap over the coffee table and tear off her hoodie, to squeeze her breasts together and suck on one nipple and then the other, making both of them tingle, adding to the pleasure she’ll experience as I grind the heel of my palm against her clit.
But she’s talking about the essay.
“It was excellent. You show a real sense of voice. Your use of sources is great. I’ve marked up a few places where I think you can expand on some ideas with a couple of lines. But overall, Autumn, I was proud.”
“Proud?”
Goddamn it. This is a minefield. Why should I be proud of a stranger?
“Yeah. I’m always proud when a student grows into their passion for history.”
This isn’t technically a lie. I love history so much and it’s always a pleasure to see people embrace it.
But it’s not the complete truth either.
I’m proud of her, specifically, my woman going into the world to make something of herself. And I’m going to be there every step of the way.
“Here you go.”
I reach into my jacket pocket and take out the memory stick, handing it to her. She leans forward and our fingers brush. The touch lingers as electricity sparks between us, as though there’s something inside of her as hungry for this as I am.
She removes her hand and slips the memory stick into the laptop. “Ah, I see. Awesome. Thanks, Asher.”
