“No, I’m not bored, I promise. I just spaced out for a second, I’m sorry.”
“All good.” He smiles and I beam back at him. I really need to put all these horny thoughts away. Maybe I need to charge my vibrator and use it before I go to bed so I stop drooling all over one of my closest friends.
Once we take a few more turns, it’s clear that Jordan has once again beat me. I shake my head as we pack up all the pieces and put the game away. “How do you always win? Is there some secret to it?” I ask.
Jordan smiles and says, “I just really like thinking about all the strategies and potential outcomes. It comes naturally, for some reason. Plus, it helps that I know my opponent so well. It makes it easy to anticipate what your next move might be.”
My mouth drops open and I gasp. “That’s so devious.”
Jordan laughs and takes our snack plates away, rinsing them and adding them to the dishwasher.
“What do you want to do next?” I ask, pulling my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands to keep me warm.
“How about I start another fire and we can read together?” he says, and I immediately perk up. Jordan is not a huge reader, and when he does pick up a book, it’s either fantasy or nonfiction, so I’m intrigued by his proposal.
“Really? You want to read with me?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the same book. I have Bobby Orr’s autobiography.”
“Of course you do,” I sigh, making my way to the stairs that lead to the loft.
“What? He’s one of the best defensemen in hockey,” he yells after me.
“I believe it.” I chuckle. “I’ll go grab my book and be right back.”
I make quick work of grabbing my latest romance book and plugging in my vibrator, for good measure. I’m sure once I finish this smutty romance I’ll be turned on and in need of some release.
When I return downstairs, Jordan is crouched down in front of the fireplace, and I take a second to admire how good his ass looks in the black sweatpants he’s had on since morning. The muscles in his back shift under his snug gray long-sleeve waffle shirt and I bite my lip, thinking about how good it felt to have my hands on him. That night in my room, the way he kissed me back and took control—I keep replaying that moment over and over again. I fantasize too often about how that night would have gone if he hadn’t put an end to it.
Jordan stands, stretching, lifting his arms high above his head, shirt riding high enough to give me a glimpse of light brown skin and a smattering of black hair trailing down into his sweatpants. I want to run my hands down that path and feel him—all of him. I want?—
“You’re back,” Jordan says, giving me a soft, lopsided smile.
“Yeah,” is all I manage to get out before I tear my gaze away from him and take a seat on the couch.
“Want to share a blanket until the fire gets going?” he says, unwrapping one of the king-sized sherpas we keep in the living room.
I nod eagerly and he chuckles. “Stand back up for a second,” he says, offering me a hand. When I take it, a little spark of electricity courses through me, and I doubt it’s only static. My body is so wired up every time I’m around this man, it doesn’t know how to function properly.
Jordan lays the blanket on the couch and we sit on top of it before he pulls one corner around my shoulder and the other around his, cocooning us both in so that we’re sitting close, legs touching from hip to thigh. I try to sit still, not wanting to break out of this moment. Does he realize how close we are?
“This okay?” he asks, dragging the ottoman over so we can both put our feet up.
“Yep,” I squeak, clutching my book to my chest.
With our feet up and the blanket pulled over and around us both, we settle in and crack open our books. The faint smell of smoke from the fire mixes with Jordan’s citrus and honey cologne, enveloping my senses.
I read the same page again and again, the words not quite making sense as I’m overwhelmed by Jordan’s proximity and warm body. Our shoulders brush with each movement he makes to get to the next page, and even though I’m wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt, I feel like my arm is on fire where we touch. Scooting lower, I tentatively rest my head on Jordan’s shoulder and get into a more comfortable position for reading.
“Here,” he says, shrugging his arm out and putting it around me so I can lean into his chest instead. My heart beats wildly as he keeps that arm around my shoulder and readjusts his book in his lap so he can keep flipping the pages with his free hand.
It doesn’t take long for me to melt into him and make progress on my book. I fly through a quarter of it, but start to get squirmy when I make it to one of the sex scenes. I usually don’t shy away from reading smut in public—in fact, I read it with a straight face—but being surrounded by Jordan’s smell and his hand wrapped around me, brushing my shoulder, well, I can’t not think about him as the hero in my book.
I picturehishands cuppingmybreasts, kneading until I’m writhing and begging for him to touch me where I need him the most. I picture him kissing me wildly, fucking me with his tongue, pumping his fingers inside me.
“You okay?” he asks and I shut the book, trapping a finger inside so I don’t lose the page number.
“Hm?”
