Page 15 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
I feel him thickening between us, feel him hardening against my belly. My nipples ache at the feeling, and my stomach flips and my heart flutters.
I pull away just enough that I can whisper. “I should clarify something,” I mutter.
“Hmmm?”
“I don’t take it slow because I don’t want you, Ryder. I take it slow because I do.”
“Can we go somewhere?” he asks, his palm skating across the small of my back.
I groan, resting my forehead against his. “I wish.”
“Fuck. I knew it.”
I curl my fingers into his shoulders. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t—my babysitter is a high schooler. She has to go home pretty soon.” I pull back to look up at him. “I want to go somewhere with you, Ryder. I really do.”
He growls, pulling away. “I’m not calling you a cocktease, but dammit woman, you really know how to turn a guy on and leave him hanging.”
I glare at him. “That’s not fair. I really do want this as much as you do. I just have other responsibilities that have to come first.”
He sighs, turning away, passing his hand through his messy tangle of red hair. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…every time we’re together, I leave like this.”
I follow him toward his truck. “Like what?”
He laughs, a sharp bark. “Like this,” he growls, gesturing at his zipper. “Hard as a fucking rock and no way to relieve it.”
“Till you get home, you mean,” I say, smirking.
Ryder’s eyebrow arches. “You think I…what? Go home and jerk off thinking about you?”
“Don’t you?”
His lips curl in a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes, I would, actually.”
He sidles over to me, and I stand my ground, staring back up at him, the challenge clear in my eyes. “No, Laurel. I do not go home and jerk off while thinking about you.”
“Why not? I thought that’s what all guys did.”
He frowns. “Because that feels degrading and disrespectful, to me. I’d feel gross about myself for using you like that, so I just suffer the blue balls.”
I laugh, a soft huff. “I hate that answer.”
“Why?”
“Because it turns me on, and I really do have to go.” I hesitate, and then stroke my fingers through his beard again. “What if I gave you permission?”
“I’ve never even seen you in a bathing suit, Laurel.”
I grin. “You’ll have to use your imagination, then.”
“Or…” he says, prompting me to follow it up with the logical question.
“Or what?”
He smirks. “You have my number, and you have a smartphone with a camera.”
I breathe a laugh of surprise. “You’re asking me to send nudes?”
He tugs on a lock of my hair as he backs away. “Just suggesting it as a possibility. Otherwise…” He keeps walking backward toward his truck. “I’ll just have to suffer until we can find a way to go somewhere together.”
I shake my head. “I’ve never taken a naked picture of myself in my life, much less sent one to anyone. You are crazy if you think I’m doing that.”
He shrugs, hands lifted palms up. “Worth a shot.”
I hesitate, and then call after him. “A week from tomorrow I’m taking Nate to Paul’s for a weekend visitation.” I let the silence burgeon with significance. “Which means I’ll have Friday night through Sunday afternoon free.”
He sighs. “I’ll probably die of blue balls before then.”
“That’s the best I can do, Ryder.”
“What time do you drop him off on Friday?”
“Five thirty.”
“Dinner—six fifteen. I’ll text you with a location Friday afternoon. Dress nice.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I always dress nicely, Ryder.”
He smirks. “Something with cleavage and a short hem, preferably.” He scans my outfit, which is work-appropriate, meaning business casual and modest. “Something sexy, just for me.”
“Any other demands?” I ask, laughing.
“Yeah, heels.” He pauses. “And if you won’t send me a nude, I wouldn’t mind a shot of you in your lingerie.”
“Don’t push your luck, bub,” I say. “You’re getting a date—nothing else is a sure thing.”
He smirks again. “The way you kissed me told a different story.”
I just shake my head. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not, I’m just saying,” he says with a laugh. “The way you kissed me just now…”
“I have to go,” is my only response.
I turn back to my car and slide behind the wheel, then watch as Ryder climbs up into his truck, which is a classic 1940s Chevy box truck—it’s been beautifully and lovingly restored, painted a deep, glossy forest green with Ryder Electrical in white lettering on the door, the box end is heavily customized, featuring chrome-handled, wood-paneled tool and equipment cabinets of varying sizes, with a rack for ladders across the top.
He waves at me as he pulls out of the parking lot.
I head home, pay Allyson, my babysitter, and spend a few minutes with Nate, talking about his day as we share a bowl of ice cream.
Once he’s in bed, I bustle around my small but cozy suburban home, tidying, picking up after Nate, vacuuming, doing dishes…
