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“Yep, great,” I say, a little too chipper for my own liking, turning slightly to cover my hard-on.
“Are you sure? You were gone quite a while for only grabbing a bottle of alcohol,” she says, causing me to glance down at the bottle in my hand. Of course she’d notice that I was gone for roughly twenty minutes and only returned with booze.
God, I’m a dumbass sometimes.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I had to use…the bathroom.” Really?! What. The. Fuck.
“Oh. Well, you could have used mine,” she says meekly.
The only response I have to the statement is that I needed the privacy of my own bathroom, but I really don’t want to focus on my shitting habits right now. “Anyway, I brought this. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“You know, the whole…dating thing. That’s a big step. Good news. Really great news. Fantastic, actually.”
She just looks over at me with concern and disbelief in her eyes. “If you say so. It’s no big deal, really,” she says casually, walking over to the kitchen table. She has it all set and ready to go. Setting the bourbon down on the counter, I join her.
Walking her way, I stop directly in front of her. Unable to stop from touching, I grab a hold of her recently cut hair. It’s a small change, only a couple of inches of length, but I noticed right away. It’s the extra colors that have me all beside myself. They somehow bring out her green eyes even more. “You changed your hair,” I say, not letting go of that strand.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice gravelly and deep.
“It looks…great.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Eventually, when the touch borders on creepy, I drop her hair and take my seat. “I had lunch with Tuck today,” I say as a way to steer the conversation to anything other than the elephant in the room: dating.
“Yeah? What’s he been up to?”
“Same ol’ Tuck.”
“Sleeping with everything with a vagina?” she asks with a laugh, but I also know she means just that. Tuck’s a bit of a manwhore. He’s definitely working his way through all of the single ladies in town, and some that aren’t so single.
“You know him well.”
As we finish dinner, we talk about the book she’s working on for an up-and-coming author from California. Her technique needs a bit of work, according to Abs, but her stories are unique and keep you flipping the pages.
“Does she write girl-porn too?”
“No, she’s not an erotic writer,” she chastises me with a shy grin.
“But you’ve edited some, haven’t you? You’ve had your hands on some of those dirty office romance novels or the ones where the girls are supposed to call the Dom Daddy, right?”
The blush is fast and furious, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. My mind wanders rapidly to all of the different storyline scenarios that she could have read, working her tail off on making the book as polished as ever. But then my wayward dick creeps into the equation, and suddenly, I’m wondering about a different kinda polish. Guys have to either find a willing female to take care of the problem, or they take care of it themselves. Lately, my problems have all been solved on solo runs.
But what about Abby? Does she get turned on reading about Doms and subs and find herself with her own little problem that needs solved? Does she take matters into her own hands, which frankly, is fucking hot. There’s nothing sexier than watching a woman making herself come with her own fingers. Suddenly, the very idea of Abby doing just that, late at night when no one is around, could quite possibly be the sexiest thing I’ve ever pictured.
And cue the massive hard-on, folks. My cock is unexpectedly so hard I could pound nails through concrete.
“Did you hear me?” she asks across the table.
“I’m sorry, what?” I mumble, mortified, trying to picture everything under the sun that could kill this boner. Emma and Orval using their playroom is usually a surefire way to ease the tension in my pants, but for some reason, now I just picture what it would be like to have Abby in one of those pleasure rooms.
Fuck.
“I offered to get the movie ready to go while you grabbed the cookies,” she says again, standing up and collecting the paper plates from dinner.
My eyes are riveted to the sexiest pair of tight grey yoga pants that I’ve ever seen. Are those new? Does she always wear slick body-hugging material that makes her ass look good enough to eat off of? I watch as she walks into the kitchen, her hips swaying gently with each step, and I realize that nothing short of a good ol’ fashioned spanking is going to get this boner to go away.
