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“So you do admit that you sat in my lap.”
“I never didn’t admit that,” I said. “What I don’t admit to is giving you a lap dance.”
“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”
“I just feel kind of cheap, if I’m being honest,” I said. “At first, I didn’t mind because I thought, well, it was just organic and natural, but now I know you were testing me to see if a cologne worked and touching me, and—”
“I didn’t touch you to test the cologne.” He shook his head. “I touched you because I needed to feel your body and wanted to be inside of you. I want to be inside of you right now.”
My face went red at his words. “Finn, we are in my parents’ house. That is not appropriate.”
“Can I tell you what other inappropriate thoughts I’m having right now?” he said as he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me into him.
“Finn.”
“What?” he said, chuckling. “You want to show me to your childhood bedroom?”
“No,” I said, glaring at him.
“But I could make you feel very—”
“You’re not going to make me feel anything, and you’re not going to spank me again, either.”
“Why? Would you rather spank me?”
“No, I would rather do nothing with you, Finn Joseph. I’m happy that you figured out that my dad’s cologne actually works, and I’m glad you’re going to buy it, and I’m happy that I don’t have to worry about paying off my school loans myself and I can continue my master’s degree and become an artist and live my life and do whatever I want to do. So, thank you for that. But everything else, it’s done. It’s over—What are you doing?” I said as I felt his hands slipping down the back of my skirt, squeezing my ass.
“You talk too much.”
“Finn,” I said as he brought me in closer to him, and I could feel his hardness pressing against my stomach.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he said. “Tell me your panties aren’t wet right now.”
“You’re not wearing the cologne,” I said as I sniffed him. “I don’t feel anything,” I lied.
“The cologne didn’t make you want to fuck me,” he said. “The cologne didn’t make you drop to your knees and give me a blow job. The cologne didn’t—”
“Enough. What if my parents came in and heard you saying that?”
“What if they did?” he said.
“They’d be pissed at you. My dad would grab his shotgun, and he’d shoot you.”
“I don’t think your dad has a shotgun.” He laughed.
“Well, if he did, he would shoot you.”
He smirked. “Then I guess I’d have to make an honest woman out of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I guess I’d have to propose to you and marry you so that he wouldn’t shoot me with a shotgun.”
“Well, I guess you’re lucky,” I said quickly. I was feeling flustered at his words.
“I don’t want you to leave my house,” he said.
“What? Of course I’m leaving. I’m not going to be your housekeeper.”
