BING
Jennifer Mason should not flutter her eyelashes unless she wants this movie night to end x-rated. There’s something about the way they frame her blue eyes, their length making me wonder what it would be like to have them flutter against my skin as we…
“Funny girl,” I retort and throw myself on the sofa to stop myself grabbing her. She has a boyfriend. That isn’t me.
“Please, make yourself at home.” The sarcastic lilt to her voice is so familiar.
“I will, thanks.”
She grabs two pizzas from the oven and brings them over, the DVD case between her teeth. She really doesn’t know how fucking sexy she is.
Jesus Christ. I’m a walking hard-on around this chick.
I settle a cushion on my lap and take the plate she offers. She puts the DVD on then sits next to me, her legs tucked under her.
“A cushion?” Her lips curl upwards in an ‘I’ve got you sussed’ smile.
“The plates hot,” I offer, staring at the television.
“Sure it is.” She smothers her laugh, and I sneak a glance at her. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy twist. She’s wearing a tight top, and holy fuck those yoga pants.
Can I get a break around here? Anyone?
I exhale deeply and try to pay attention to the movie. Nope. It’s too hard – and it isn’t the only thing. Fuck. I readjust my sitting position, and I strain against my jeans. I clench my teeth. This is not how I planned this night.
She’s fucking torturing me and she doesn’t even realise it. She’s driving me to the brink of insanity with my crazy need for her in every way - but mostly in my bed. Or her bed. Or against a tree. Really, I don’t give a shit where I make love to this girl.
Make love?
I think those two words are testament to how fucking crazy she drives me.
I can’t focus on this film for a second. It’s all fairies and magic and kisses and stars and bullshit. Bullshit.
I sigh sharply and pick at the topping of my last piece of pizza.
“Why are you sighing?” Jen turns her beautiful face towards me. “Are you turning into a pussy and getting the romance in this movie?”
“Yeah, right.” I snort. “I’m not even watching.”
“I know, I was being sarcastic.” Her pink lips curl up on one side slightly. “I hate to break it to you, Samuel, but I’m no Hollywood movie.”
That’s because Hollywood has nothing on your beauty.
“It’s the yoga pants,” I admit. “They’re kind of tight, and distracting.”
“They’re supposed to be tight.” She laughs. “It’s the point of them.”
“Yeah, well.” I swallow.
“You’re an ass kinda guy, aren’t you?”
I’m a Jen kinda guy.
“If I can grab it, then it’s my kinda thing.” I shrug it off.
“Then grab it,” she challenges, standing up.
“I’m sorry?” I blink. Did I just hear her right?
“I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Is my ass your kinda thing? Find out.” She shrugs and glances down at me over her shoulder. “Are you scared, Samuel? It’s just my pretty little derrière – nothing to worry about. It won’t swallow you whole or anything.”
Her ass is practically in my face. There’s a strip of creamy skin between where her top doesn’t quite meet the waistband of the yoga pants and it’s begging me to run my finger along it. I clench my fists.
“It’s probably best I don’t,” I grind out.
“No, no, I want you to.” She wiggles it slightly, flashing a playful grin over her shoulder.
That does it.
I shove the cushion off and stand behind her. I put my hands on her hips and slowly run them round, cupping her ass cheeks. They sit perfectly in my hands, and I get even harder imagining what it would feel like to hold her with nothing between our skin.
“I think,” I whisper in a hoarse voice, putting my mouth near her ear. “That your ass is most definitely my kinda ass.”
I creep my thumbs up and run them along the bare strip of skin, trying my hardest not to hook them inside the yoga pants and peel them away. Her body jolts a little at the contact, and I hear her breathing pick up speed.
No matter how she fights it, this attraction is more than fucking mutual.