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“Fine. I'll drop it, but only if you admit that my brother wants you,” I order, watching her face intently.
“He doesn't,” she insists, and I’m starting to think she seriously doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.
“He does,” I insist.
“Ryder, will you be reasonable? Have you looked at me?”
“I have. That’s part of the problem,” I grumble, wondering why Tillie apparently has no idea how beautiful she is.
“Fine, for the sake of an argument, what on earth could ever lead you to that impression?”
“Because I'm having the same issues,” I tell her.
Her eyes go round as her breath hitches. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips nervously. I watch and barely hold back my groan. I have no idea what's going on with me. I can't remember ever reacting to a woman like this.
I have been on the verge of ending the dry spell and giving in to my old ways the last month or so. Being alone so much can get rough. Earlier in my career, I took advantage of everything a bat bunny had to offer. Eventually, it just wasn't worth it. In the end, I missed the connection I felt when I was with Emily. Yet, when I looked at other women I encountered, there was no spark there that made me want to forge a connection deeper than sex. That’s not true with the curvy little snack in front of me. I want Tillie beneath me in my bed, but I also want to get to know her.I want time with her.
We're hanging in silence as time feels frozen until she finally responds.
"What do you mean you're having the same issues?" she whispers, sounding winded.
I drop my hand to hers, cupping it. I hold her gaze as I slide her hand slowly down my chest—wishing like fuck I didn’t have clothes on. Finally, I place her hand between my legs, pressing it against the hard outline of my cock.
“I want you, Buttons,” I groan, pressing her hand to make a delicious pressure. Jesus, I think I could come just like this.
“You can't. You're Emmie's ex-boyfriend. You didn’t even know my name in high school. You tolerated me at best.”
I laugh. “That was six years ago. I haven't spoken to Emmie in forever and believe it or not, it’s not high on my priority to ever do it again. There are things in high school that you have no idea about—things that I might just tell you in time. Right now, you just need to understand that you're the only woman I want to pick up and carry out of this place. I want to take you home and tie you to my bed all night.”
She takes a breath, the sound audible and shuddering through her body. Her grip tightens against my cock, but before words leave her pretty lips, the bathroom door opens.
“Shit,” I curse as I try to jump back. Her hand continues to grip me but tightens with the shock of the door opening. She curls her fingers into my balls and sends pain radiating through my body. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
Tillie is oblivious. “M-Mrs. Lane,” she mumbles.
“Tilda. What are you doing?” the very proper voice asks.
I can't seem to concentrate. Every second that passes, Tillie’s grip intensifies. Her fingernails bite into my nuts. Shit, if this keeps up and she’s going to permanently unman me.
“I'm here celebrating Mrs. Monroe's birthday.”
“A most unusual way to celebrate,” Mrs. Lane says.
“No, we usually celebrate her dinner here every year,” Tillie says, clearly confused by the woman's meaning.
“Christ, Buttons, she’s talking about you having my nuts in a death grip. Let me go, while I still have something to use down there,” I growl, trying to disengage her hand.
“Dear, you should probably release him if you're ever planning on having kids with him,” Mrs. Lane says pointedly.
At this point, my stomach hurts, my body is overheating, and yet it feels like all my pain is centered right at her grip. I'm surprised I've stayed upright. I cup Tillie's hand as she looks at the woman with panic, eyes wide, clearly in shock.
“We're not having kids. We're not together. He doesn't even know I exist,” she argues—still clutching my balls.
“I’m pretty sure he knows you exist right now. You really should let his uh berries loose before you turn them into jelly.”
“Berries?” Tillie squeaks.
“For the love of all that's holy, Tillie, let go of my balls!” Fuck, I’m surprised my voice isn’t at least ten octaves higher.
