See Me After Class(109)

“I believe that would be the proper payment at this point.”

“Fine.”

Clapping, Cora turns to me and says, “And that’s how you wear him down. Take note for future reference.”

“Trust me, she can wear me down a lot faster than that,” Arlo mumbles while putting the vegetables on the plate.

“Oh, I think he’s talking about sex. Gross.” Cora comes up to me and gives me a hug. “I really am happy for you two. And be warned. He can be an idiot, so when he fucks up—because he will—be sure to hear him out.”

“Thanks, Coraline.” Arlo rolls his eyes.

“Anytime. I’m going to go change.”

“You’re actually going to put on clothes?” Arlo asks with a smirk.

“Don’t be an ass, I have a secret of yours,” Cora calls out while going up the stairs.

“I can see her using that a lot.” After he washes his hands and sets the cutting board and the knife in the sink, he leans against the counter and beckons me with his finger.

I waste no time. When I reach him, he lazily drapes his hands on my hips and leans down for a kiss. I reach up, cupping his cheeks, and give him what he wants.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers.

“A little sore,” I say, tugging on the brim of his hat.

“Just a little?”

I chuckle. “Maybe a lot sore.”

“Hell, I’m sorry.” He draws his hands up and down my back. “I should have taken it easy this morning.”

“I particularly liked how hard you were.” I wink.

“Your poor neighbors.”

I shrug. “Don’t know them, don’t care.” I lift up on my toes and kiss his jaw. “When are we going out again? I’m starting to become addicted to our dates.”

“Me too. And whenever you want. I can plan something for Wednesday again.”

I rub my hands over his pecs, remembering just how thick and strong they are. His entire body looks like it’s chiseled from stone. While wearing his cardigans, you can see that the man is fit, but I never would have dreamed how fit he actually is. I pawed at him every chance I got last night and this morning, hence why I’m so sore. It wasn’t really him being greedy; it was me. I wanted more and more of him, and the more I got, the more it set off my need. It’s grown so deep that even though it hurts to walk, I want to take him back to his office and let him have his way with me.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Huh?” I ask, smiling up at him.

He squeezes me tight and presses a kiss to my forehead while laughing. “I think you’re hornier than me.”

“That would be accurate,” I say.

“If you weren’t so sore, I’d take you up to my bedroom right now.”

“Really? If that’s the case, I’m not sore at all. I was just playing around.”

He laughs into my ear and whispers, “Nice try, babe.”

The doorbell rings, and I say, resting my head against his chest, “This is going to be painful.”

“Want me to come over tonight?” he asks, surprising me. When I glance up at him, he adds, “Strictly to make out, maybe some over-the-clothes touching, nothing more.”

I chuckle. “There better be more, and I’d love that. Think Cora will be fine?”

“Yes, she’s a big girl who is blackmailing me. I’m going to take advantage of it as much as possible.”

He presses one more kiss to my lips and then walks to the entryway. Infatuated, I watch his backside retreat, remembering how glorious that backside is naked. So many images are floating through my head from last night.

Arlo standing before me, his cock hard as stone, waiting for my mouth.

Arlo in the shower, washing my hair gently, taking his time, growing hard in my hand as he soaps up my breasts.

Arlo in a pair of jeans and nothing else, grabbing our breakfast delivery from the door and then serving me on my bed because we busted my table.

Arlo—

“Are you okay?” I blink a few times and catch Stella, Romeo, and Gunner all staring at me. Arlo is behind them, chuckling to himself. “You were literally just mumbling something about sexy pecs.”

Dear Jesus, was I?

“And I think there’s drool in the corner of her mouth,” Romeo points out.

“And I hate to be that person,” Stella continues, “but your nipples are incredibly hard.”

Every eye in the kitchen falls to my nipples that, in fact, are very hard.

Looking back at them, and then at Arlo, and then at them again, I laugh awkwardly and say, “Uh, I was, uh, thinking about”—I clear my throat—“well, you know how . . . uh, cucumbers can be very—” I clear my throat again. “Woo, is it dry in here? It’s dry, I think. Anyone else need a drink?” I wave my hand in front of my face.

“What’s happening with you?” Stella asks. “You’re turning red.”

“Am I? Maybe I have a rash.” I cup my hand over my mouth and pretend to shout, “Call the ambulance, this girl’s on fire.”

Arlo snorts, while the others look at me as if I’ve lost it.

“Menopause,” I say, lips thinned, nodding my head. “I’ve hit menopause. At such a young age, too. These eggs are all fried up,” I say, motioning to my ovaries. When they stare blankly, I keep talking. “Not really, I can still offer up kin—God, that feels like something Keeks would say.” I press my hand against my forehead, then quickly remove it and rub my hand against my shirt. “Oof, that’s clammy. Anyone else a little clammy? Just me? Yeah . . .” I swallow hard. “Just me. So . . . anyone ready to play badminton?”