Page 36 of The Stud

Air that I don’t have according to the slight burning beginning in my lungs.

“You fortunately have room to properly brace your left hand on the table.”

Said hand lands on the furniture only to have him lightly skate his fingers across it as his lips brush against my right ear unintentionally proving he’s not turned off by the attached hearing aid.

Not that I need him to be turnedon.

Pretty sure I’m wound up enough for the both of us.

“Spread ‘em just a little wider for me, Arden,” airily commands the man I just know I’m going to regret letting get this close.

Completing the action barely precedes me glancing over my shoulder to locate his slightly hooded glare. “Next?”

It’s impossible to ignore the way his breath hitches.

And his mouth creeps a smidge closer.

And how my own mimics the movement.

The very tips of his fingers anchor down between mine. “Weight.”

“For?”

“You uh…” his eyes helplessly fall to my parted lips where they hungrily linger, “you need weight to keep it firmly in place while you stroke.”

Stroke me nearly leaps off my tongue.

And given the small desperate bite to his lip I can’t help but believe he’s thinking the same.

Which is bad.

So.

So.

Bad.

We shouldn’t be this fucking close.

I hate him.

I mean…Ishouldhate him.

Ineedto hate him.

Not want him.

Damn sure not wanna kiss him.

Or keep kissing him.

Or keep kissing him while he puts his weight on me for stroking.

His eyes closing convinces mine to do the same.

Unfortunately for us both, the sound of someone bursting into the room commands them to immediately pop back open and cut over to the intruder. “Snoowwwwmnannnnnn!” The male it takes no time to recognize as Ernest Lis – a Camelot Cheetah’s center – uses both his open palms to slap the asses of the topless blondsliterallyin his possession. “These snipes wanna melt the snow!”

“And this one’s gonna go,” I mumble in tandem with removing myself from his weird, ridiculous pull that was most likely caused by the cologne he clearly bathes in.

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