Page 41 of Siren's Game

Well, maybe it’s better that way. A way to bring more distance between us again. A chance to retreat and gather my thoughts, come to a point where I’m not imagining this becoming more.

"I'll call you a driver," I tell her softly and take out my phone.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest and fixes her gaze out the window, watching the cars on the street, moving like little, glowing ants. Her fingers tap against her upper arm, and I can see the anger boiling in her eyes.

I sigh.

"I'm sorry," I tell her once the driver is taken care of. "That was uncalled for."

"Yes, it was," she says curtly, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her eyes. "Listen, this doesn’t work.” My heart stops and I open my mouth to object, but she continues talking. “I’m tired of arguing with you whenever we meet. Can we just call a truce?"

Oh, thank God. I clutch my shirt on my chest, glad that she’s still looking outside. I thought she was about to call this whole thing off. Mum would have had my head.

"I'm naturally annoying, I can't guarantee anything." My voice is hoarse as I answer her, and I clear my throat. When she looks up, the sincerity in her expression strikes me. She looks exhausted, and there is something else in her eyes that I can't quite place. "I'll try, okay?"

"Okay." She sighs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

"So, when is your friend coming to Philly?" I pinch my forearm in an attempt to dial back on my snarky tone.

"Next week." I nod, right as my phone starts buzzing in my hand.

"Alright. I think your driver is here." She gets up, clutching all of the papers against her chest and gently places the guitar on my couch.

"Thank you, Asher."

She shoots me a short but finally sincere seeming smile before she puts on her shoes. And I need to look away. Because the way she's leaning down is making her skirt ride up, revealing almost all of her long legs and my cock also remembers our earlier conversation. Very well.

How would it feel to have them wrapped around my head as I have my face buried in her pussy? What does her sweet voice sound like when she begs me to stop?

Fuck. Subtly, I take a step so the couch covers my crotch from where she’s standing.

I force myself to look back at her when she straightens her back and rolls her shoulders before opening my front door.

"Let me know when you're home." She stops and slowly turns her head.

"Yes, dad," she says with an eye roll, but the smallest smile is starting to tug at her lips. "Have a good evening."

"You too."

There is a moment of awkward silence between us, either hoping or waiting for the other to add something. But neither of us does. So, she shoots me another tight smile and then she's gone, the soft click of the door closing loud in my suddenly way too quiet apartment.

"Fuck." I groan and sink onto the couch once the door is closed.

I am in so much trouble. And I am most definitely hard.

I need to take a shower.

Within minutes, I have hot water cascading down my body, slightly easing the tension in my muscles that’s been there ever since she walked out my front door.

My cock is rock hard, has been since she fucking leaned down to put her shoes on. Goddamn.

When did I return to puberty? There’s hasn’t been a woman that made me hard just by leaning down to put on her shoes, like, ever.

Fuck.

I palm my cock and start stroking it, a groan falling from my lips and echoing from the tiles.

I should imagine something else. Literally anything but her. She is burned into my brain, the only images it conjures up are of her.

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