Page 104 of Show Me How
“We keep you humble,” she confirms, flicking her wrist to add what I think are dimples to the pumpkin.
“Amongst other things.”
Her attention shifts slightly, falling on my terrible fucking drawing. “Are those its eyes?”
“Maybe,” I grunt.
“Maybe? They so are. And you were givingminea weird look.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” Daisy pipes in without looking away from her pumpkin.
I point my marker at her. “And how do you know? You haven’t looked away from that thing once since you started.”
“That’s what you think.”
“You’re all trying to distract me so I’ll mess up,” I grumble.
Bryce lets loose a laugh that’s far too amused. “That’s not necessary when you’re doing that all on your own.”
“You’re going to eat your words,” I warn.
The competitive streak in me flares, heating my chest as I try to tune out the rest of the table and get to work. I use the opportunity to show off, sensing the curiosity beating into me from the woman in the chair next to mine. It’s shameless, but I can’t help it. I’m unable to control myself half the time around Millie. Every day this week has been a reminder of that.
My hand slips when I get another flash of a memory from when I was above her, my cock pressing?—
The black line that drags across the middle of my pumpkin draws an almost animalistic sound up my throat. I slowly lower my marker and look beside me, unable to ignore the impulse this time. Millie’s watching me already, her brows furrowed and lip pinned beneath her fucking teeth again. I have half a mind touse my thumb to pull it free and rub the imprint that’ll be left behind.
My groin tightens for the thousandth time today alone as I shift on the chair and bite my tongue to keep from telling her to drop her marker and go to the bedroom. I’ve been a tense motherfucker since that day in her room, and my entire body is taking the lack of further sexual encounters as a punishment rather than what it is:the end of our lessons.
I’m not even going to acknowledge the restlessness that’s starting to plague me goddamn everywhere I go. In the studio while I’m working, or in my apartment while I’m trying to work out, where instead of seeing the pin-up posters on the wall, I have to stare at the shirtless firefighter calendar that she put up in their place.
Without having to ask, I know Shelly gave that to her.
I’ve debated taking it down, but I haven’t been able to. It’s one of the small changes she’s made to this place, and discarding it feels like I’m discarding her. That’s the last thing I want to do.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice dropping so the question is just for me.
I tap the back of my teeth with my tongue before replying, “Yeah. Just peachy.”
“You look like you want to punch the pumpkin.”
“I’m just ready to carve it.”
“Already?” Her doubt is obvious. “Like that?”
A laugh explodes from me. “Yeah, Millie. I’m going to freehand it. Have a bit of faith, eh?”
“Alright, alright.” She hands me the carving tool and takes a long look at my sketch.
“It’s too bumpy,” I explain.
“It gives them some originality.”
“Sure it does.”
“Don’t hate on them. They’re just children,” she scolds lightly, a smirk toying with her mouth.
