Page 48 of Just for the Plot

“If you think this is better than an orgasm, then clearly you haven’t been with the right people.”

“Clearly.” She takes another bite and moans.

“Can you…can you not do that?” I ask, trying to hold it together.

“Do what?”

“Moan while you eat?”

“Why? Turning you on?” she jokes.

Yeah.

I look away and she laughs, nudging me with her foot.

“Oh my God, Bennett, a food moan is turning you on.”

“No, I mean…maybe, it’s just…it’s been a little bit since, you know, and I don’t need you moaning like that. It’s too sexual and you have me reading those books, and it’s just—”

“They made you horny.”

“Hell…” I let out a deep breath.

She laughs loudly. “Do you see why I’m the way that I am? My vibrator has had three new battery changes. I’m wearing it out.”

I glance at her, not expecting her to be so candid. Then again, it’s Bower. I should expect nothing less.

“Your hand must be rubbed raw.” She lifts my hand to examine it. “My God, the calluses on your palms. Your poor dick. It must be like fuckinga cheese grater every time you jack off.” Her eyes meet mine. “Is your dick okay?”

“My dick is fine.”

“Just fine?” She lifts a brow.

“Can we not talk about this?”

“Ooo, you seem to be in a mood today. Everything okay?”

No.

It’s not okay.

First, you look hot as shit and you’re not even wearing makeup—which of course is my favorite.

Second, you smell so fucking good that it’s taking everything in me not to push you against the wall and run my tongue up your neck—or rub my pillow all over you for an extra boost in scent.

And third, you’re going on a date with a guy that you’re probably going to end up marrying, all because I failed to do the research before giving you his information.

“Just tired,” I say.

“Well, I can leave if you want to get some more sleep.”

“No,” I almost say in a panic and then clear my throat. “I mean, no, it’s okay. I was up anyway.”

“Okay.” She eyes me for a moment. “If this is about the horniness, I can possibly see if I can find someone for you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not. It’s fine. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She nudges me with her foot. “You don’t need to apologize. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you at this point. I’m so lucky that you live here and have been willing to help out. I thought bringing a cronut over might be nice given your sweet tooth, but I’m seeing that maybe the morning after a late night might not be the best choice.”