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“Yes, I’m busy. And since you noticed, could you please treat me as such?” he says, the smile on his face not matching the harsh bite of his words.
Tyler’s never been rude to me before, and I’m very put off.
“I’m sorry. You just seemed a little stressed, and I figured maybe it could take your mind off things if you weren’t focused on work,” I mumble, unable to meet his eyes.
I’m taken aback at the scoff that leaves his mouth.
“Oh, so instead of being stressed about work, you want me to stress about telling your dad we’re seeing each other? Newsflash, I work with him. So, regardless, I’d be stressed about work,” he snaps, and it’s enough to put tears in my eyes.
But I refuse to let Tyler see me like this, so with a huff, I stand up from the couch and rush into his bedroom. I’m not in the mood to be dealing with such a moody Tyler.
I have half a mind to leave but figure it wouldn’t help the situation in the slightest if I did. So, instead, I flop down onto his king-sized bed, hoping that sooner or later, he will stop being so mean.
Later ends up being about twenty minutes. The door to his room cracks open slowly, and a contrite looking Tyler appears in the doorway.
“Maria,” he calls out. At the moment, I don’t feel like being forgiving, so I don’t say anything as I turn my body away from the door.
“Maria,” Tyler calls out again in a sing song voice, and I can feel as he climbs onto the bed.
I don’t bother acknowledging him and keep my back to him, despite the fact that I can feel him coming up behind me.
He doesn’t say anything as he lets his arm drape over me, laying down behind me as if he wasn’t being a dick less than half an hour ago.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he offers, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.
I still don’t say anything. It’s obvious that he’s trying to extend an olive branch, and I should be mature enough to talk things out and forgive him, but I don’t plan on making it too easy just yet.
“I’m just stressed, sweetheart. I’m sorry for being such an ass,” he tells me, and him calling himself that brings me some satisfaction.
So, I mumble out, “And a douchebag.”
“And a douchebag,” he repeats. I can hear a smile in his voice.
Finally, I turn around to face him, finding him propping his head up on his hand as he looks at me.
“I know you’re stressed. Sorry for pestering you,” I offer, giving him a sheepish smile.
In his state, he probably isn’t interested in talking about my father. But as each day passes, that discussion becomes even more pressing.
“You could never pester me,” he says, leaning down to give me a soft kiss on the lips. “In fact, you probably keep my head from exploding.”
I smile at the words. “Is there anything productive I can do to help you feel less stressed?”
He ponders the words for a moment before settling on, “No, nothing I can think of.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice lowering an octave as I sit up, moving closer to him until he’s forced to drop onto his back, and I quickly move to straddle the lower half of his legs.
“Well, I thought I was sure, but now,” his words falter as my hand reaches out to palm him through his sweatpants, the low-hanging gray material having enticed me all evening, “I’m not so sure.”
My hand reaches into the waistband of his pants, and I pull out his increasingly stiff member. The hot flesh feels so good in my hand, and I almost believe that this will do more to de-stress me than it will for him.
“You don’t have to” He’s again cut off when I waste no time engulfing him in my mouth, loving the feeling of him getting harder while encased between my lips.
The loud moan he lets out is music to my ears.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he groans, and I let my eyes wander up to take in the expression on his face.
I love the look of pleasure that he makes whenever we’re fucking. The furrow of his brow, the slight part of his lips, and the look of concentration mixed with desire all come together to get my own body wound up.
