Page 21 of Wait for Him

The second time, I wasn't sure.

By the fourth time? Come the fuck on.

So, what am I supposed to do with that?

Nothing. That's what.

Because every time I start thinking maybe it means something, I remember graduation.

It never happened.

Fine. It never happened.

Except everything after it keeps fucking happening.

Fuck me.

I'm hooked on this woman.

Like a drug, and she's both my dealer and my enabler. Except nobody forced me into this addiction. I've been showing up every day for another hit with a fucking smile on my face.

Pathetic. Happily pathetic, at that.

“Better? Warming up a bit?” I ask, rubbing my hand up and down her arm.

She nods, her hand fisting in my shirt where it rests against my stomach, and I glance over to make sure Bennet is still knocked out. He hasn't moved, face half buried in the towel, snoring loud enough that I should probably be concerned about his airway. Good. At least one of us is having a peaceful fucking evening.

I hope to God neither he nor Rose can see the tent I'm pitching, although Rose is practically curled into my lap, so there's no fucking way she hasn't noticed. I consider shifting away from her, but then I'm going to make it obvious that I'm moving because my dick is hard, which feels somehow more embarrassing than just sitting here pretending it isn't.

Except now I'm wondering if not moving makes it weirder. Like, heeerreee's my penis. Don't mind him. He's just happy to be included.

Fuck. I'm losing it.

Her hand loosens from my shirt and starts to move, and for one glorious second, I think she's going to put me out of my misery by taking it off me altogether.

Instead, she moves it lower.

Her fingers graze my belt, then the tip of my cock, and my breath is punched clean out of my lungs. Every muscle in my body locks at once while I try to convince myself it was an accident, because it had to be. She's drunk. We're sitting close. Her hand slipped.

Then the side of her palm drags over me again.

Slowly.

Back and forth.

There is nothing accidental about it.

“Fuck.” My hips thrust up before I can stop them, chasing the friction, and I feel her breath hitch against my chest.

I look down.

She's already looking at me.

Good garden hell, I’m not imagining this.

Her palm moves over me again, and whatever restraint I've built over the last three years snaps.

I reach up her back, bury my hand in her hair and pull her mouth to mine.