Page 27 of Teasing a King

“Good plan,” I say, still feeling a little embarrassed. I’m grateful Mya didn’t make a big deal about it.

We walk back down the hall, stopping in front of Mya’s door. We stand there awkwardly for several second before Mya breaks the silence.

“Goodnight, Van,” she says in a soft voice.

“Goodnight, Mya,” I say. I stand unmoving as she walks past me and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. I stare at her closed door for several seconds. Part of me wants to follow her, but I know I can’t. Hadn’t I just promised her privacy? Of course, I can’t barge into her room like an asshole. It would also violate her rule about remaining platonic. Which I won’t do.

I shake my head and suck in a deep breath. The faint scent of vanilla and jasmine fills the air, hitting me like a punch to the gut. The smell takes me right back to the night we’d slept together. We’d barely made it into my apartment before we’d been all over one another. I’d buried my face in her neck, inhaling deeply as I’d pressed her back against the door. The scent of her perfume had sent a sharp stab of desire through me, and my cock had gone from half-erect to hard as a fucking rock in the space of an instant.

We hadn’t even managed to get undressed that first time. We’d been too eager, too hungry for each other. Mya had unzipped my pants and tugged my cock free while I’d shoved her dress up around her hips. Gripping one of her legs behind her knee, I’d spread her wide for me. The little scrap of satin that covered her pussy had already been soaked by the time I’d shoved it over to one side to touch her. I’d nearly come right then, feeling her slick heat on my fingers. She’d already been so wet. I’d wanted to take my time, to tease her and taste her. To plunge my fingers inside her and feel her squeeze me tightly as she came. But the need to be inside her had been too overwhelming.

In the last instant, I’d remembered to pull a condom from the pocket of my pants that still hung loosely around my knees. Mya had snatched the foil packet from me, ripped it open and unrolled it along my length, squeezing me lightly before guiding my cock to her center. I’d slid all the way home in one thrust, sinking into her slick, tight heat. Her mouth had dropped open, but her eyes stayed on mine. I’d held myself still, giving us both a moment to adjust to the feeling.

Then she’d ground her hips against me, and I was a goner. The need to move had taken me over. I’d pounded up into her again and again, grunting with every hard thrust. I’d taken her mouth in a rough kiss as my hand slipped between us to tease her clit. I’d known I wouldn’t last long. It had been so long since I’d been with someone. But I needed her to come before I did. I hadn’t realized how responsive Mya would be to my touch. I’d pressed my thumb against that little bundle of nerves in time with the pounding of my cock inside her. Her gasps had grown frantic, and she’d clutched at my shoulders, her fingers digging into my muscles, meeting me thrust for thrust until I’d felt those first spasms of her pussy milking my cock. She’d screamed as she came, pushing me over the edge right along with her.

The memory is enough to make me hard. By the time I make it to my own bedroom, I can’t take it anymore. My cock is rock hard and aching, straining against my jeans painfully. I lock the door and tear my clothes off as I make my way into the bathroom. I turn the shower on and climb in before the water has a chance to warm up. The icy spray shocks my heated skin but does nothing to dampen my arousal. My cock strains upward, begging for release. The water gradually warms, running over my body in rivulets that remind me of the way Mya’s hands had trailed over my skin that night. She’d licked and kissed and sucked her way down to my waiting cock, smiling up at me from her knees before taking me deep into her mouth.

My hand finds my hard cock and I grip it, stroking in time with the memory. Mya’s head bobs up and down, taking me deeper each time. My hand moves faster, squeezing the head of my cock with each stroke. My balls tighten, warning me that I’m close. I remember the way Mya had gripped the base of my cock and squeezed, taking me down her throat.

“I’m close,” I’d said, warning her.

Mya had only looked up at me with those big, brown eyes and let out a pleased hum. That’s all it had taken. I’d come hard and fast, shooting my load into her waiting mouth. Mya had swallowed it down, the feel of her throat working over my cock an indescribable pleasure. The memory of that moment is enough to send me over the edge again now. Something between a growl and a shout escapes me as I explode, painting the shower wall with my sticky release. My knees go weak with the force of it, and I brace myself with my free hand to keep from sliding to the floor. I stroke my cock until it’s completely empty and too sensitive to touch before pulling my hand away.

I stand under the hot water for a few minutes, trying to calm my racing heart. What the hell is wrong with me? I just jacked off to fantasies of the woman I’d promised not to try and sleep with. My dick twitches again at the memory, already eager for more.Shit. What the hell am I going to do? How am I going to live here with Mya and keep things platonic? Especially knowing how amazing she feels in my arms. I shake my head to clear it, clean the evidence of my activities off the shower wall and finish my shower. Whatever I feel for Mya is my problem. I’ll have to deal with it. If I can’t ignore it, I guess I’ll just have a really big water bill from all the cold showers I’ll be taking. Because I sure as hell can’t act on it. We made a deal, and I won’t be the one to break it.

Chapter Twelve

Mya

Van is surprisingly easy to live with. It’s a fact I’m forced to acknowledge after my first week in his house. He lets me have my privacy, never intruding on my personal space. For a bachelor, he’s also surprisingly neat. He doesn’t leave dirty dishes in the sink, and I haven’t found the toilet seat left up even once. It’s possible he’s on his best behavior for right now, until I let my guard down. But I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s just a genuinely good person. He’s funny and kind. He’s thoughtful, too. He’s always checking with me about meals and whether I need anything from the grocery store. I have a bad feeling that I’m starting to like being around him.

I know most people would consider it a good thing that they get along so well with the person they’re living with. They’d probably consider it an especially good thing that the father of their child is such a great guy. Of course, I’m happy that Van isn’t a total asshole or a slob. My problem is that I think I’m beginning to like him too much. I’m a little too content to be living with him. I get just a little too excited when he comes home after work. I feel my smile stretching just a little too wide. I look forward to the next time I’ll see him, and I hate the nights when he works late. The last two nights it’s happened, I’ve stayed up until he came home. I’d pretended that I couldn’t sleep, but the truth is that I just missed him. This is fast becoming a problem. I tell Hope exactly that when we have lunch one afternoon.

“I can’t do this,” I say, dipping a French fry into a pile of ketchup and cramming it into my mouth.

Hope watches me, a look of confusion on her face. “It looks like you’re doing just fine,” she says. “And since when do you like ketchup?”

I shrug and reach for another fry. “Since I stopped throwing up everything I eat. The baby likes it, I guess.”

She watches me pop another fry into my mouth before shaking her head. “If you say so.”

I use yet another French fry to point in her direction. “Stop changing the subject. What am I going to do?”

She looks around, confused. “What subject? I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

I roll my eyes in exasperation. “You do know,” I insist. When she just stares at me in confusion, I sigh. “Van?”

Hope finishes chewing a bite of her sandwich before responding. “What about him?”

I growl at her. “Have you been listening to me at all?”

“Of course, I have,” she says. “You were going on and on about how perfectly wonderful Van is and how great it’s been living with him. I’m not seeing the problem.”

I clench my jaw to keep from shouting at her in the middle of the diner. “Platonic, remember? No hanky panky?”

She shrugs and pops a curly fry into her mouth. “That’s your dumb rule,” she says, talking with her mouth full. “You know my opinion.”

I roll my eyes. I do know. Hope has made it clear on more than one occasion that she thinks I should “hit that”. “That” meaning Van. She thinks Van and I would make the perfect couple. The problem is that my best friend is seeing the world through her own love-crazed, rose-tinted glasses. She’s in love, so she wants everyone else to be as well. No matter how many times I’ve told her that what Van and I had was a one-time thing, she keeps insisting that I should seduce him. She’d worded it a little more crudely than that. How had she put it? Oh, yes. I remember now. She thinks I should “take him to Pound Town.” Whatever that means.

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