Page 36 of Hot Doggin'
Stiles chucks the magazine back at me. “I like what you’re wearing. It’s…fitted. Looks good.”
I guess that’s about all I’m gonna get from him. Flirting isn’t his game, apparently. But the heat in his gaze is enough to tell me what he’s thinking and feeling without words. “Do you want to be the giver or the receiver?”
Annoyance gone, he busts out laughing. “We’re not talking about Christmas gifts, are we?”
“Nope.”
“Unlike you, I haven’t given it much thought. But, I’m open to trying new things.” A slight blush colors his cheeks above his dark beard. It’s cute. He’s shy talking about sex with me. I’d never have guessed. “Because it’s you, and I trust you.”Fuck, that’s sweet.In a quieter voice, Stiles adds, “And because I really want you.”
That does it for me. We can sit here all night, all week, and beat around the bush with innuendo, covert glances, and silent yearning, or we can do something about it right now. Because I don’t want to waste another second not touching him. I lean into his space and catch his chin under my fingertips, turning his face toward me for a kiss. “I really want you too.”
He tastes sweet, like licorice and ginger from the root beer. My tongue glides with his, tangling together in the wet heat of his mouth. And I’m rock-fucking-hard in an instant. Fuck, his kiss sends me over the edge.
But when he pulls back, he doesn’t lay me down and steal my breath with his kisses. He doesn’t feel up my cock and grope my ass. No, he reaches for the goddamn remote and clicks our show on. Pimp My Bike.
Playing it cool, like it doesn’t both sting and frustrate the shit out of me, I try flipping my hair like Tex did at dinner to catch Mandy’s attention. Back and forth, I swish the tail of my new mullet and rub my hand over the short-cropped top.
Stiles notices. Fucking finally!
“You got dandruff or something? Quit scratching your head.”
Is he fucking serious? Dandruff? I’m trying to be sexy!
“I’ll get you some dandruff shampoo at the store tomorrow,” Stiles offers.
He turns the volume up on the TV, and it lights a short fuse within me. My temper flares and then explodes. Fucking touch me! I grab the remote from his hand and sit on it, which pushes all the wrong buttons—on the remote and in Stiles. But that’swhat repressing your desire does to you. Makes you a moody bastard with a hair-trigger temper.
“The fuck?!” He lunges for me.
And it’s on like Donkey Kong. At least his hands are on me.
He grabs my shoulder, digs his knee in my thigh, narrowly missing my crotch, and growls.
“Was that meant to intimidate me?” I laugh.
It only pisses him off more. Stiles wraps his hand around my throat and my dick gets even harder. I might be into that. We can explore it later, if he ever agrees to have sex with me.
The couch is too narrow and we roll to the floor in a tangle of limbs, grunting and huffing to catch our breath.
I dig my fingers into his ribs and he flinches. “No tickling!”
So I grab his ass instead. He flips me somehow.Damn, that’s hot.Stiles reaches beneath me for the remote and his fingers brush my cock. He pauses, not moving away, and I push into his palm, hoping he’ll wrap his fingers around it. His weight on top of me makes it hard to breathe, but I’d rather pass out than ask him to move. His dick pushes against my ass and I freeze, afraid that if I move, so will he, and then he’ll be gone.
“Am I crushing you?”
His breath tickles my ear, the deep tenor making everything tremble inside me.
“No,” I grunt, trying not to sound out of breath, cause yeah, he’s crushing the fuck out of me.
I push my ass back against him and he makes a sound like a moan, but not quite.
Stiles shifts and I think he’s gonna roll off. “Wait.”
It takes him a moment, but he pushes back. It’s a thrill, feeling his hard dick push against my crack, begging for entry. Someday, I’m gonna know what he feels like buried inside my ass.
He does it again, thrusting lightly, and I push back, showing him I love it and I want more.
“Fuck,” he breathes over my neck. He curls his fingers around my throat again, not squeezing, just… resting there possessively.
