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Murray
Yael Aronson was lying on top of me in bed, but not in a way my pervy teenage brain ever fantasized about. Having her ass pressed to mine was strangely soothing and entirely disconcerting. Plus, my damn dick got half-hard the second she climbed into bed with me.
“How was your reunion?” I asked.
Through my back, I felt her sigh. “It was the closure I needed, so I’m glad it happened.”
I pressed my cheek into the pillow, trying not to picture the way Yael had looked a few minutes ago bent over in her little thong. I’d picture that later, when my dick wasn’t trapped between my body and the mattress.
“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”
Her muscles stiffened for such a brief second, I almost thought it was in my head until I heard her voice. It was the fake one she used on calls for Mo.
“As a matter of fact, Harris invited me to his room, that dick.”
I wasn’t the least bit surprised about that. Harris was the cheating kind and he’d tried to pull Yael into his nefarious act. I guess I should have had more faith she wouldn’t fall for that guy, chiseled jaw and all.
“Glad you chose this room instead.”
“Me too. Although, Harris did compliment me rather nicely. Some variation ofyou’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen and I must now gouge my eyes out since I will never again encounter such beauty.”
I chuckled. “Oh, is that what he said?”
“Something like that.” She slapped my side. “Why wouldn’t you compliment me?”
“I seem to recall I did.”
“It was half-hearted.”
I twisted my head in an attempt to see her, but it was no use, so I flopped back down. “Why do you want compliments from me?”
Her head turned so her cheek laid against my back. When she exhaled, I felt the heat through the fabric of my shirt.
“I don’t know. Because I dressed up so you’d be proud to have me on your arm.”
“Come on, Yael. You know you looked good. You always do, dressed up or not. What gives with the insecurity? That’s not you.”
A laugh burst out of her, but there was no amusement in it. “Are you kidding me? You know better than most how insecure I am. I didn’t even tell my boyfriend of nearly two years about my art for fear of rejection.”
“I get that. But your looks? I don’t buy it.”
“Okay.” She sounded flat and a little bit defeated.
I bucked my ass. “Get off me so I can look at you while I talk some sense into you.”
“No!”
I bucked higher, making her squeal and hook her feet around my calves. Her butt slammed against mine each time I reared up and fell back down, and she grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, holding on for dear life.
“Move it,” I grunted.
“Never. I’m stuck to you like glue now.”
“Yael, get your ass off me or I’ll roll over and crush you.”
She wiggled around and gripped me even tighter. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.” That was all the warning I gave her. With a great heave, I rolled, taking her with me until I was sprawled on top of her and she was flattened like a pancake. “Give up yet?”
