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Ani is definitely squirming beneath my hands now, but I refuse to increase the speed of my fingers. I’m a bit of an asshole like that, what can I say? For a moment, I think that she won’t answer, but she speaks.
“People walking,” she whispers, her voice breathy and halting. “There’s a couple walking their dogs. And a mom with a baby in a pram. There are people jogging.”
She keeps detailing what she can see in that breathy, halting voice, making gasping sounds in between, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life. Finally, halfway through describing a walking group, Ani comes, grinding down on my fingers, her words cutting off in a garbled moan. Fuck. My fingers slip out of her panties, and I grab her hand, tugging her inside. There’s no way that I’m going to make it to my bedroom.
Fuck it. As soon as we’re inside the door I pull her into my arms, lifting her up. Here will do. I slide down the wall of the small landing at the top of the stairs until I’m seated with my back up against the wall, and Ani straddling my lap. Cupping her cheek with my hand, I draw her in for a kiss as my other hand fumbles with my fly, my dick eventually springing free. Fuck yeah. I shove Ani’s panties aside, tugging her down, impaling heron my dick. She gasps against my mouth, her hands gripping my shoulders as she takes me deep and the kiss breaks.
Ani presses her forehead against mine, her eyes fluttering closed and her teeth clamping down on her lower lip as she rides me. I don’t know how I ever thought she wasn’t hot. She’s gorgeous, especially like this. I grip her hips as she rolls them, staring at her face, where it’s pressed against mine. At last, she loses her rhythm, grinding down on me as her mouth drops open and she moans. The sight of her face as she comes apart on my dick, not to mention the feeling of her pussy muscles milking me are too much and my hips jerk as I come.
My eyes flutter shut, and we stay there for a moment, trying to catch our breaths. Ani lifts her head and mine tips forward as I pant against her neck. My lips find Ani’s skin, pressing kisses against it until Ani stands, and my eyes fly open. She straightens her clothes and throws me a smile, turning and walking back down the stairs. Okay. I think I might be forgiven for my thoughtless words earlier.
Once I’ve gotten my breath back, I jog down the stairs, throw on some workout clothes, and head down to the gym in the basement of the building. Ani’s nowhere to be seen, so she must be in her bedroom or the small office. I hit the treadmill for a warm-up jog and move to the weights.
I have the gym to myself at the moment, so I don’t bother with headphones, listening to the generic radio tunes filling the otherwise silent room. As I work out, my mind turns to Ani – something it does with surprising frequency these days. What’s also surprising is the fact that I’m really enjoying my time with Ani. Not just the sex – which is completely mind-blowing, actually – but also simply chatting with her.
Until my brain fade had me blurting out that nonsense this morning, I was enjoying our conversation. True, she makes me talk about myself a lot – which isn’t something I’ve ever really enjoyed doing. But she talks about herself too. I enjoy hearing about her growing up. I wonder what stuff she looked at when she window shopped at the mall with her friends. And what movies she went to see each month.
I’ve also started enjoying having her in my space. I’veneverenjoyed having someone in my space before. Growing up, I was one of those annoying teenagers with a KEEP OUT sign on my door. The only people who ever entered my room at my parents’ house in Chicago were me, and whoever was cleaning it. I don’t think my parents ever set foot in there, and I can’t remember Timmy coming in either.
At Northwestern I put up with a roommate for the bare minimum time I had to while I rushed my fraternity. I endured two years of sharing a room at the frat house until I finally qualified for my own space. One of the best days of my life was when I got my own room. It felt like I could breathe again.
Sure, the boys stay here when they’re in New York, as do Mom and Dad, but they also leave, and my space is my own again. It’s one of the reasons I hated having Ani here so much in the beginning. Now, it’s like she’s grown on me or something. Or something. I smirk.
I only brought her into my bed that once when there was no sex happening. I haven’t done it again for one very specific reason. Ilikedhaving her there that night. I enjoyed waking up with her in my arms in the morning, and that freaked me the fuck out. Which is why I bailed like a chicken shit, heading intothe office to fuck around for a few hours while I pretended like something important had come up.
But I enjoy having her in my space. I enjoy seeing her for breakfast and coffee each morning. I enjoy sharing the car with her into the office each day, and home each night. And as my muscles bunch and stretch with each rep I realize something else – that fact doesn’t freak me out in the slightest. Which should really scare me.
Chapter Seventeen
Anica
I frown at my designs, turning the iPad to look at it from another direction. There’s something missing. I tap my stylus against my lips as I purse them. I’ve got David’s personality covered, and his more laid back and fun personalities. I’ve also incorporated the feel of the Haven Property offices and the people who work there. Butsomething’smissing. I need to put my finger on it. Dropping the stylus onto the desk next to the iPad, I frown, tapping my fingernails against the wooden desk.
While I’m lost in thought, my iPad goes to sleep. Reaching over, I click it back on and Andrew’s picture flashes up on the screen. I smile softly at it, my fingers brushing across his face. My fingers tap against his face. That’s it. I know what the design is missing. I need to know how David handles pressure. Andrew and I had opposite approaches to handling pressure. Andrew calmly confronted the issue head on, never losing his cool. I’m a crier. I try to channel Andrew these days, but sometimes I can’t help it and the old crying me bursts through.
But I have no idea how David handles it. I don’t know if he stays cool, calm and collected. The unflappable David that I see each day at work. Or if he gets fiery and loses his temper, flying into a rage. Or if he sulks… somehow, I don’t think he’s a crier. My lips twist upward into a smirk at the thought. But how to assess and observe him handling pressure? I tap my fingers again and a small giggle bubbles out from between my lips. I think I know how to manufacture pressure.
Yesterday, after David returned from his gym session, he made some offhand comment as he watched me cook dinner. Ipertly invited him to help me, instead of sitting and watching. He responded by laughing that he has never cooked in his life and doesn’t even know how to boil an egg. Who doesn’t know how to boil an egg?
Pulling my iPad towards me, an evil grin crosses my face as I sift through recipes online. It has to be one that he can follow. I can’t make it completely impossible for him. I want to see how he handles pressure – I don’t want him to have a complete breakdown. But it can’t be super easy. He might have been kidding aboutneverhaving cooked before, so it can’t be boxed mac n cheese or an omelet or something too simple.
Finally, I find the perfect recipe, sliding out of the office, going in search of David. He’s watching some basketball game. I think it might be a re-run, and glances over his shoulder when I walk into the room, dropping my iPad on the breakfast bar.
“I have a task for you,” I call over to him as I make my way over and he grins up at me, waggling his eyebrows. He reaches over, snagging my hand and tugging me down onto the couch beside him.
“And what’s that?” He shuts off the TV, tossing the remote onto the coffee table.
“You’re going to cook me dinner tonight.”
His eyebrows shoot up as he stares at me in disbelief. “I’m doing what now?”
He cocks his head to the side like maybe he misheard me.
“You’re cooking dinner tonight.”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t kidding last night. I don’t know the first thing about cooking. I’d probably set a pot of water on fire instead of boiling it.”
That’s not possible. I roll my eyes at him and poke his pec playfully. “I want to see how you handle pressure.”
