Page 43 of The Temptation
What the fuck did I just do?
14
SIMON MILLER
Holy shit!
That was not how I’d expected to start my day. Not that I was complaining. My toes tingled while everything else felt so damn relaxed. This was one of the many reasons people had boyfriends. However, now that I was so relaxed and happy, I had no desire to get out of bed. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to begin a day you hoped would be productive, but it was a fine way to kick off what could be a lazy Sunday.
The key thing was to find a way to parlay this into a lazy, cozy day with Pierce where we lounged about, ate comfort food, and had more sexy times.
My brain was still turning this newly formed idea around when Pierce leaped off the bed, tucked himself into his pants, and bolted to the adjoining bathroom. Yeah, I should probably do something like that as well.
I stuffed my softening cock into my underwear and borrowed sleep pants. I wrinkled my nose at the cold cum drying on my hand. It would have been sexy to lick it off in the heat of the moment since it was Pierce’s, but he wasn’t on the bed with me any longer. Felt kind of superfluous now. Besides, I’d rather suck it straight from the source.
“Hey! Do you have plans for the day?” I called out as Pierce disappeared into the bathroom.
The only answer was the running of the water from the faucet. He must not have heard me. I sighed and stretched, enjoying the chance to laze about a while longer. Last night had not gone how I’d planned. Pierce was right in that I’d put too much pressure on myself regarding his parents. For him, this might all be an act, but it wasn’t to me. I might be his fake boyfriend right now, but I planned to turn this temporary gig into the real thing. If I were to accomplish that, I would need his parents to like me.
While the orchestra’s conductor had arranged the music for this weekend’s performance, I had begged months ago to include the piece by Tchaikovsky because it was one of my favorites. It was the only way I was going to get through playing Mozart without wanting to blow my brains out. However, I’d needed to brush up on the Tchaikovsky because I hadn’t played it in years.
Add in the stress of meeting Pierce’s parents, trying to win my stubborn bastard, and writing my own concerto, and I just might have cracked a teeny tiny bit. It didn’t happen all that often anymore, but it was often enough that I knew I needed to sleep for about sixteen hours and survive on any food that could be left on my doorstep and didn’t require me to say two words to anyone. By the time I reemerged from my cocoon of blankets and carbs, I’d be mostly human and able to hold an intelligent conversation.
After a couple of minutes in the bathroom, Pierce returned to the bedroom carrying a washcloth in one hand and a towel draped over one arm.
“I brought you this. Unless you’d rather take a shower,” he said, sounding so very awkward and unsure. It wasn’t his tone that bothered me, it was the stern lines cutting across his face and the way he no longer met my gaze.
Yeah, this was more like what I’d been expecting from him. I wanted to groan and sigh at him, but there was no point. We had to go through the motions of his panicking.
“This is fine,” I replied with forced cheerfulness. At least he’d gone to the trouble of warming the water. I wiped off and handed him the damp cloth before snatching up the towel. “I asked you earlier what your plans were for the day.”
“Oh. Um…I’m not sure. I have some meetings on Monday that I need to prepare for.” His words were mumbled as he accepted the towel from me only to hurry to deposit both items in the bathroom.
I almost snorted. I was one of those meetings he had on Monday, but I doubted he remembered.
“Do you want to do something? Grab lunch? Or dinner?” I glanced around the room for a clock. I had no idea whether it was early morning or late afternoon. The second sleep had claimed me, I’d been dead.
“Simon.”
Here it comes…
“We shouldn’t have done this.”
I adored Pierce, but there were moments when he was painfully predictable. Every time the man broke one of his rules or colored the tiniest bit outside the lines, he freaked out.
Drawing in a deep breath, I forced on an overly bright smile and blinked wide eyes at him as he returned from the bathroom. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why?” I repeated. “Why shouldn’t we have done this? We’re both adults capable of making grown-up decisions about our bodies and our love lives. Why shouldn’t we have done this and a hell of a lot more?”
“Simon! The age gap between us is ridiculous.” He held out his hands to me as if what he was saying was the most obviousthing in the world. “You weren’t even a teenager while I was in college.”
“That’s the most ludicrous excuse, and you know it. There are eight fucking years between us. Not ten, twenty, or even thirty years.Eight. Not even double digits. That’s not a gap. It’s an age crevice. A crack. An agecranny.”
“Simon—”
“Don’t come at me with this weak-ass bullshit. You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake. If your opening argument in any case was this pathetic, the judge would have kicked the lawsuit out,” I snapped. I hadn’t meant to lose my temper so fast, but we’d just had this wonderful moment, and he was already backpedaling. Why couldn’t he let me enjoy it for a few more minutes?
