Nothing is as interesting as the thought of Chloe in my bed. But this spy thriller TV show is entertaining enough.
As the first episode ends, footsteps move across the hallway. The bathroom door opens. The water runs.
I start the next episode. The title splashes over the screen in big black letters.
The water turns off.
Her footsteps move closer.
"Dean?" Her fingers skim the wall as she moves into the main room. "Will you sleep with me?"
My cock stirs.
"Not sex." She tugs at her tank top, trying and failing to cover her black panties. The same ones from her picture—from every masturbatory fantasy I've had since—cotton bikinis with cream lace trim. "I know you want to wait. I just… I want you to hold me. I can't sleep. I keep thinking about it."
I can't say no to that. "Give me five minutes to brush my teeth."
"Okay." She turns and moves into the kitchen, hips swaying as she walks.
Fuck, she
has a nice ass.
I try to pry my eyes away, but they won't go. My body is already roaring. It's already begging to get between her legs.
She fills a glass with water and brings it to her lips.
I move into the bathroom. Try to get my thoughts from the gutter as I brush my teeth and wash up.
Fail.
I stay put as I listen to her move into the bedroom.
She leaves the door wide open.
Yellow light floods the dark room. It casts highlights off her nose, the edge of her shoulder, those strong legs.
For someone barely five feet tall, she has long legs.
I want them wrapped around my waist.
Pressed against my cheeks.
Fighting my hands.
Fuck. For the first time in my entire life, I wish I'd done more to cultivate restraint.
How the hell does this work?
I step into the room and out of my jeans.
Chloe gives me a long, slow once over. Desire spreads over her expression as she pats the spot next to her.
I pull the door closed and climb under the covers.
She nestles into me. Rests her back against my chest, her ass against my crotch, her head in the space between my chin and shoulder.
I wrap my arm around her.