“Yeah,” I reply. “Good and naked.”
CHAPTER 19
MAGGIE
We’re aboutten minutes into the movie and there’s no way I’m going to make it to the end credits without spontaneously combusting. Not even dark chocolate peanut butter cups are helping, and that’s bad. Part of the problem is that my favorite rom-com has a few steamy scenes—that’s part of what makes it so good.
But the rest of the problem is JT. Everything he does is stupidly sexy. He’s cracking up at the onscreen antics of the main character and his low, raspy laugh is so rare and so endearing that I feel lucky to have witnessed it. I also feel like leaning forward and licking his neck, right where his Adams apple bobs. But I wouldn’t stop there. My lips and fingers would trace every hard, toned inch of him. I would lick and tease and suck and touch. I would do all the things we did in that bathtub, and so many things we didn’t.
My vibrator is broken. Defunct. Useless. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been scratching a certain itch. It’s not the same, though. Nothing is. Literally nothing compares to the way he felt inside me. If I close my eyes and let myself go there,damn, I can recall every single second of ecstasy. I can feel the pulsing of his cock, the way my walls closed aroundhim, the way I felt too full, but also like I’d never get enough. I can take myself back to the first moment his fingers grazed my center. His touch was gentle at first, but not timid. It was sure and patient and so fucking good. He nearly drove me crazy with each slow, sensual lingering pass. I was soaking wet for him then, and I’m the same way now. I’m surprised he can’t hear my heart as it threatens to beat out of my chest or that he hasn’t noticed the way I’m clenching my thighs, trying my damnedest to stem the tide of lust that’s about to take over.
Another laugh rumbles from his chest, and I sneak one more glance in his direction. The space between us is filled with the tray of snacks, and that’s a good thing because if it weren’t there, I might just be tempted to crawl into JT’s lap and take him up on his earlier offer. The only light left in the room is from the TV, but it’s more than enough to illuminate his profile. I’m not paying any attention to the movie. Instead, I’m watching with rapt attention as he scratches absently at his stomach, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough that he shows a delicious sliver of skin.
I want to cover his hand with my own. I want to trail my fingers across the waistband of his jeans and then down the length of his cock. I want to draw him into my mouth and take him as deep as I can. I want his hands in my hair, his moans in my ear. I want to know that he’s just as needy as I am.
I’m no expert on flirting, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he sits with me at lunch and just happens to stop by Drip at the same time I do on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. He says all the right words, but the past year has taught me that words are meaningless. It’s action that matters.
Suddenly, I realize that’s the answer.
I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want what JT is offering.
So maybe it’s time for me to take some action.
Before I lose my nerve, I reach behind myself and fish for the light switch. Less than a second later, the room is awash with the fluorescent glow of million-watt lightbulbs.
JT turns toward me, wincing like he’s staring at the sun. “No need for an interrogation. It was me, Maggie. I ate all the gummy worms.”
“Maybe we should,” I blurt, afraid I’ll lose my courage if I don’t just get the words out.
“Eat more gummy worms?” he asks. “Nah. I’m all sugared out.”
“Have sex,” I explain.
“Yes,” JT answers, not wasting any time.
“Not for science, for math.” God, my word salad is just making it worse.
“That makes no fucking sense, but I don’t care,” he tells me, pulling off his white hoodie. “Bed or couch?”
I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been agonizing for weeks over whether it’s wise to give in to whatever this is between us, but JT’s on board right away. “You can’t be ready to have sex right now. It’s been, like, ten seconds.”
Clearing his throat, he turns to face me fully before gesturing to his thick, lengthening dick. “Can’t I? Because I’m sure as shit not hard over gummy worms.”
“Speaking of gummy worms,” I say if only because I need to get my head together, “you said you’re ‘all sugared out’. What the hell does that even mean?”
“Uh, it means I’ve had enough sugar. Enough to last me until Christmas, at least,” he says, moving our snack tray to safer ground on the coffee table. It’s a smooth move, but I’m not done talking yet.
“How? There were, like, six gummy worms in that teensy little dish. How is that enough sugar?”
He shrugs, and the movement does lovely things for hismuscled chest and arms. “I told you before, sweets aren’t really my thing.”
The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips before he reaches for me. I’m ready for him to grasp the back of my neck, pull me close, and cover my lips with his.
That isn’t what he does.
The pad of his thumb swipes at the corner of my mouth and with mortification, I realize he must be wiping peanut butter or dark chocolate from my face. But when I look up at him there’s no disgust or even amusement in sight. His eyes never leave mine as he licks the chocolate from the tip of his thumb. “Fuck,” he says, the curse an aphrodisiac rolling off his tongue. “Might have to rethink my stance on chocolate.”
He's teasing; I know. But his eyes are heavy with lust, and the way his tongue darts out over his full bottom lip is taking me right back to that bathtub.
