Scarlett: Youd do that?
She stands fifteen minutes later when her friends come stumbling out the door, brushing off her legs and ass. Stretches and holds out her hand to help me off the ground.Which is so fucking ridiculous, because shes tiny and petite and I tower over her by almost an entire foot. Nonetheless, I slide my hand into hers when she offers it, letting our palms sizzle from the contact.
Standing on my own without her assistance, clasping her hand, I rise to my full height.Thank you. She lingers a few seconds, glancing at her friends, now down in the yard, stumbling heels already clicking over the concrete of the sidewalk.I release her hand, stuffing mine into the pocket of my jeans. Flex the fingers of my tingling flesh. Dont be such a pain in the ass next time.
She starts down the staircase, ponytail swinging in the breeze. Glances back once, over her shoulder.The Friday Where the Real Games Begin.
Me: Hey Tess, you guys hitting Jock Row tonight?
Too desperate sounding?Weeks of mutual, pent-up sexual tension have me reaching for the hem of his shirt and sliding my hands underneath. Aching and desperate to feel the weight of his skin, my fingertips glide over Rowdys textbook washboard abs.
They were carved out of marble.Jesus, hes so ripped and cut in all the right places I dont know what to touch or stroke first.
My hands find the light smattering of chest hair on his pecs. I sweep over it with the pads of my fingers; my selfish palms slither over the solid, brawny muscles of his clavicle. Brush over his hard nipples with the pads of my thumb. Rest on his ribcage, caressing there, too.Dont, he warns into my mouth. Im ticklish.