Page 19 of Perfect Boy

It isn’t helping that her neck is fully on display when she tips her chin upward. That neck is so fucking beautiful, and I’d love to have my hand cupped around it, choking her while I drove my dick so far inside of her that she’d never so much as want to look at another man again. She’d see that I had everything she needed.

“Damn it!” She groans, stepping back and dragging her hand down her face. “We keep messing up.”

Her eyes have that fiery look inside of them. One that’s fueled from pure aggravation. And from the expression on her face, it’s obvious she’s frustrated that we can’t seem to get it right today. But deep down, she must know what our problem is.

She needs to be fucked. Thoroughly. She needs a release. And I really, really want to be the one to give it to her.

“Sorry,” I mutter, hoping that my now-massive hard-on isn’t showing through my fucking sweatpants.

I might have attempted to talk myself down—literally—but my dick had other plans. Plans that included a standing ovation for Ryann. And when her eyes float downward before widening, I know I’ve blown my cover.

Quickly, she looks back up, and her cheeks turn the cutest shade of red as she chews her bottom lip nervously. “No. It…it’s not just you. I’m messing up too.” She’s flustered as shit. “Maybe we should, uh…just pick this up tomorrow. Today just isn’t our day, it seems.”

“My schedule with hockey and class is jam-packed tomorrow. It has to be today.” I reach out, resting my hand on her waist gently. “We can get it done today; I know we can.”

She drags in a breath before stepping back and away from my touch before scowling at me. “Stop. Doing. That.”

“Stop doing what? Trying to be positive?”

“No!” she says, stomping her foot like a toddler. “Touching me like we’re a couple! Or doing things like kissing me or pulling my body toward yours!” Her eyes are wide, and she shakes her head. “Stop doing it! Stop doing all of it!”

I could let it go. I could be the nice guy I always am and tell her I will stop if it makes her uncomfortable. I should do that and vow to be better. Only I really don’t want to. I’m tired of her pretending like there’s nothing between us. I’m sick of her pushing me away just because she’s comparing me to her ex.

Taking a few slow steps toward her, I glare down. “Why, Tiny Dancer? Because you like it when I touch you?” I reach out, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. “Because you liked it when I kissed you, Ryann? No…I think you fucking loved it actually.”

“No, I didn’t,” she hisses.

“No?” I tilt my head to the side. “So, you don’t want me to do it again, right? You don’t think we’re dancing so fucking terribly today because you’re aching for me to touch you again? Like really fucking touch you?” I swallow. “I know you feel it too. Stop denying it.”

“Nope. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t,” she says through gritted teeth. “I feel nothing.”

“Okay then.” I nod, ready to call her bluff. “Let’s dance. I mean, if you aren’t aching for my cock to be inside of you, like I think you are, it should be easy. Right?”

She shivers but narrows her eyes. “Fine,” she growls. “Let’s do it. So you can see that I. Don’t. Want. You.”

Ryann

Every time his hands are on my body, I go and screw up. And whenever my ass brushes against him, he grows harder. I ache so badly that I can’t even think straight. But if I give in now, where will that leave us? I know what happens with random hookups. They don’t solve anything. Besides, we have to work together for this fundraiser. Sex will only make things awkward between us.

I can’t even get through three moves without floundering. They aren’t even hard moves either. It is all simple shit I learned years ago. This never happens to me. And while Watson didn’t exactly bring his A game today, he’s not doing as terrible as I am. Which means…he wasn’t even affected by that stupid kiss. Not the way I was anyway.

“From the top,” I blurt out, but I sound much angrier and more annoyed than I anticipated.

And when I miscalculate my steps, I start to fall forward on my face. Another thing that barely ever happens to me. I don’t mess up. And I certainly don’t flounder.

As I brace for impact, strong arms wrap around me before I hit the floor. In the mirror, I see Watson, his arms looped around my body, his eyes fixated on mine. It’s as if he hears my every thought and sees right through me.

“I can’t do this today,” I whisper, pulling away from his hold. “I’m going home.”

“And what? You don’t think we’ll have the same problem next time we try this again?” His eyes narrow as he steps toward me, crowding my space and backing my ass up to the mirror. “Until we give in to what our bodies are craving, we won’t be able to get this done. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want a romantic relationship,” I say in a low growl. “You’re a nice guy. A sweet guy. You love your mom.”

“And?” He scowls. “What the fuck does that have to do with shit?”

“Because after one hookup, you’ll expect more. I don’t want more,” I argue. “I’m figuring my shit out. Alone.”

Suddenly, his hand slides to the back of my neck, and he squeezes gently as he pushes my face closer to his. “I might not be as nice as you think, Ry baby.” His eyes float to my lips. “I might not be nice at all actually.”

---