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The moment his hands touch my stomach, I know I figured wrong. There was, in fact, one last boundary to cross and it’s this. It’s soft swipes of warm palms and an affectionately mumbled greeting and the reverent, thankful gleam in his eyes.
I stare very hard at the ceiling. I cross my arms very tightly across my chest to keep my hard nipples at bay because I’m not precious about nudity, remember? I try very hard not to clench my thighs in an effort to relieve the pressure building between them and feel very grateful that even though I’m—see above—so not precious about nudity, I wriggled into a pair of boxer briefs before shuffling over here.
Cass is very aware of his effect on me. There’s no other explanation for why, long after the lotion has soaked in, his gentle caresses continue. Why one hand drifts lower, fingering the waistband of borrowed underwear. Why lips press just beside my belly button and quietly tease, “Need some more help?”
Heat flushes my skin, and it’s anyone’s guess whether embarrassment or arousal is the source. “Stop.”
“Stop as in ‘no, I don’t want that’ or stop as in ‘I want that but I don’t wanna talk about it’?”
My brain says both. My body says the second one. My mouth says nothing.
Breath huffs against my belly. Gentle but insistent, Cass palms the back of my thighs, lifting and guiding until I’m straddling his lap with no clear idea how I got there. Hands coast down my upper arms, gently unfolding them until my chest is bared, peaked nipples and all. “You did so good earlier,” he praises, a possessive touch against the middle of my back urging me close, head dropping so lips can graze my collarbone, “asking for what you wanted. Try it again.”
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do anything with him nuzzling my neck, grazing the underside of my boobs with his thumbs, shifting us so our hips are perfectly aligned and I feel the hard, perfect length of him throbbing the same way I am.
When I remain silent, Cass pulls back. “Okay. My turn, I guess.” He crooks two fingers beneath my chin, lifting until our gazes lock. “What happened earlier? I wanna do that again. Whenever you want. Whenever I want. Maybe some other stuff too.”
“Why?” I ask like a big dummy.
His grin is wide, unashamed, full of shit. “Because I don’t like you being uncomfortable.”
“Such a selfless man.”
Cass hums and then his mouth straightens out, taking on a sincere downward curve. “Really like you needing me. Really think ignoring this—” His finger flicks between us, referring to… the palpable tension? The sexual chemistry? The convenience? “is a waste. Really tired of feeling so damn guilty everytime I come to the thought of you.”
My inner big dummy rears her head again; I blink and croak, “You do?”
Bad question. Bad, bad, bad question.
Dark eyes glitter and glow and freaking gleam, seduction incarnate, slightly evil. “The purple dress. That smile. Those eyes the first time I saw them in the sunlight.‘Darlin’’.‘Guess I’ll do all the work,’” he quotes me with a groan, eyes fluttering shut and his head lolling back momentarily before it snaps upright again. “In my wildest dreams—”
“Do I want to know?”
“Oh, baby, you let me do so many nefarious things.” Fingers graze my cheekbones, tuck my hair behind my ears. “Drive you to work. Cook for you. Buy you things.”
“You do all those things anyways.”
“Yes,” he says, “but in my dreams, I do them because you asked me to.”
“Sounds unlikely.” And utterly selfish in the most exciting, unfamiliar way. “And very complicated.”
“We’re already complicated. Might as well have a little fun.”
Indecision, irritation, just raw fucking need fight for dominance in my head. “It’s not justfun, though.” There’s consequences. So many. People who could get hurt. So many of them too. There’s no room for a thoughtless, meaningless hook-up here. There’s too many strings.
“I know,” Cass agrees, watching his fingers as they glide through my hair. “But this one thing can be. It’s simple, Sunday. I like you. You like me.”
“Cocky.”
“Yes, my cock likes you too.” His hips flex to prove it. “And your cu—”
“Okay,” I cut him off, saving myself another hot flash. “I get it.” Kind of. I kind of get it. I’m not sure what the exact parameters of what he’s suggesting are but I get the gist; we partake in the fun things we’re pretending to partake in anyways, and we pretend it’s not complicated and confusing and about a dozen other things too.
It’s a terrible idea. The peak of foolish decisions, and God knows I’ve made my fair share of them. But it also sounds… nice. Comfortable while also simultaneously being the opposite.
“It’s not just because of convenience, right?” I can’t help but ask, silly and insecure. “Because I’m here?”
