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That’s exactly what I do.
I really, really shouldn’t dip my head to bring my nose just centimeters away from her glossy blonde hair and breathe in the citrus scent of her shampoo.
I do that, too.
She tilts her hips, and I feel the soft roundness of her ass brush against me. My jaw sets hard, making my teeth grind together. Fucking hell.
I absolutely shouldn’t dip my arm lower, wrapping it around her waist instead of her shoulders, tugging her even closer and letting my hand rest right in her lap, so close to her pussy that I can practically feel my thumb drawing circles around her clit.
Yeah. I do that.
She laughs again, at a joke I totally missed. The mellow vibration of her body against me makes me wonder what it would feel like to hold her tight and feel her body shudder in release while I make her come.
Summer tilts her head back to look at me. I feel a ping of shame when her eyes suddenly lock on mine, given the images currently playing out in my mind.
“You don’t like it?” she asks.
I furrow my brow. “Hm?”
“The show. You’re not laughing.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m … distracted, I guess.”
She twists, angling herself towards me. The side of her left breast brushes against my ribcage, and just that tiny ghost of a feel is more than enough to let me know how perfectly round, firm, soft it is. There’s no doubt in my mind that it would fit in my palm like a fucking dream.
“Distracted by what? Anxious about your game this Friday?”
She just gave me the perfect opportunity to lie my way out of admitting what I’m really distracted by: her.
But I don’t take it.
“No,” I shake my head.
“What, then?”
My pulse quickens. “Things I shouldn’t be thinking about.”
Her lips press together, eyes tethered to mine. “I’ve been doing that, too, lately. Thinking about things I shouldn’t be.”
The temperature in the house shoots up. There’s a tight knot in my throat. I can feel my heartbeat hammering in my neck. My gaze dips from Summer’s gold-specked emerald eyes down to her lips. So pink and soft and perfectly smooth.
How would they feel wrapped around my cock?
I should find a way to change the topic. Instead, I ask, “What kind of things?”
Her thighs squeeze. “I shouldn’t say.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about if you do.” My voice is a low, raspy whisper.
“You. I’m thinking about you.” Her confession makes my heart pound. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking that I’m tired of pretending.”
Summer pulls a gasp of air through her nose, a stricken expression breaking out on her face. “Tired of … of us pretending? To be together?”
I shake my head. “Tired of pretending I don’t want you more than I’ve wanted anything else in my fucking life.”
There it goes, the last thread of self-restraint I had snapping clean. When Summer’s lips flutter open, I crash my mouth to hers, and for the first time, I kiss her holding nothing back.
