Page 116 of Waiting Game

“Yeah. I detest hugs. Hate shit like that. But during sex, I crave it. Weird, huh?”

Mid-thought, I reach for one of the sandwiches and rest it against her bottom lip.

I’ve noticed over the past couple of months that her curves have diminished some. Not gonna lie, I liked her juicy. Especially her ass.

She takes the bite and chews as I let my mind race.

“I guess with figure skating, it’s pretty invasive.”

Her shoulders sag at my retort—from relief.

It has me frowning until I realize she’s relieved I don’t think she’s weird.

“Yeah. I grew desensitized to it in a way. You had to when someone’s lifting you in the air by your ass cheeks. It got so bad that I switched from pairs to singles when I was eighteen.”

“We need to start doing lessons,” I insert, which has her grinning.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“It’s one of the reasons I stopped when I reached the state championship. I didn’t have it in me to take it farther.”

“You’re too tough on yourself.”

“I’m a realist.But, as desensitized as I was on the ice, I had to deal with the opposite problem off the ice.”

I wonder if that’s why it’s easier for her to disconnect when she’s on cam. She’s accustomed to performing and to being intimately ‘handled…’

That’s something to ponder.

I didn’t even fucking realize I was a voyeur until her—now, she gets me hard by taking off her damn short shorts online.

I guess I used to like watching strippers, enough for Kow to pick up on the preference, but I didn’t have such a visceral reaction until her.

Doesn’t make me Einstein that I figured out she’s the common denominator.

Then, a thought occurs to me. “But you’re sitting on my knee.”

She hitches a shoulder. “I like sitting on your knee.”

I shoot her a dopey grin. “Really?”

Her hip wiggles. “I get to feel you.”

“Ah, fuck,” I groan, as that friction, after using my fist for a literal eternity, is hella nice.

She twists on my lap until she’s straddling me. It’s such a smooth move that it reveals her dancing experience and it makes me wonder if she ever took a pole dancing class or something similar.

When she’s facing me head-on, I settle my hands on the juncture where hip meets thigh and stare into her periwinkle blue eyes—yup, I looked up the color.

Then, she twists back and grabs half the grilled cheese sandwich, takes a bite, and, as she moans about how good it is, feeds me some as well.

The problem is, as delicious as the sandwich is, my dick is so fucking ready for action that I canfeelthat moan.

I admit it’s more sensitive than a seismograph.

Her small smirk tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and is loving every second of it.

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