The Trade(53)
That’s why I’m sitting on the couch bed, stretched out with two stacked pillows behind me, waiting for Natalie to appear from the bathroom. The TV is ready, the sheets are pulled back for her to slip under, and I’m comfortable . . . until she walks into the room.
Motherfuck.
What. Is. That?
Okay, remember how I said her shirt and short pajamas were sexy?
I was misinformed.
Natalie’s walking toward me, wearing a thin, pink satin nightgown that hits her just above her knees. The thin strips show off her delicate shoulders and collarbone, while the neckline dips just above her ample cleavage. And from the way her breasts are shaped under the fabric, she’s not wearing a bra.
Where the hell has that been all vacation?
I’ve seen her in revealing bathing suits, but those suits have nothing on this nightgown, because even though it covers her, it creates a yearning I feel deep in my groin.
“Are you going to say sorry?” she asks, crawling into the bed.
“Err, what?” I ask, blinking a few times.
“Apologize, for hogging all the chocolate. That was rather rude of you, Cory Potter.”
She’s acting so casually, as if she’s not short-circuiting my mind right now. Does she know what she’s doing to me? Can she see the tension she put in my shoulders, the way my fists are gripping the sheets, or the firm clench of my jaw? Does she not realize her slipping into this bed, wearing that nightgown, smelling like flowers, is making me so goddamn hard that I’m having a hard time finding my breath? Does she really have no fucking clue how unbelievably sexy she is? Is this another remnant of her dick of an ex? That she doesn’t know she’s sexy?
“Uh . . . yeah, I ate it all,” I say awkwardly.
She laughs and picks up the remote. “I know, I watched you in horror.” She positions herself closer to my body but doesn’t quite make it all the way to touch me. I can feel the heat of her skin on mine. “And what’s with the no shirt? Don’t you usually have a T-shirt on when we go to bed?”
Don’t you usually have cute pajamas on rather than a sexy-as-hell nightgown?
“Hot.” I clear my throat, my eyes focused forward. “It’s been hot lately.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to get you some water?”
“Nope. Good.” When did I start sounding like a goddamn caveman?
Probably the minute Natalie walked into the living room wearing nothing but silk over her delicious body. Does she even have underwear on underneath?
Shit, I never should have thought about that because now my fingers are aching to find out. Her thigh is so close, that all I’d have to do is run my hand up her silky skin to her hipbone. That’s all it would take. What would she do if I touched her? If I held my breath, turned toward her, and lowered her fully on the mattress? Would she welcome it? Push me away? Wrap her legs around my waist and start grinding into my painfully hard cock? Stroke my blue balls, take them into her mouth, soothe them?
“Are you sure you don’t want some water?” she asks, looking at me from the side. “You look . . . different.”
“Good. I’m good,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Okay.” She starts the show and shifts on the bed so her foot grazes my leg. The smallest touch sends fire through my veins and pools at the base of my cock. “Oh, sorry about that. You’re so big and this couch bed is smaller than I thought.”
You don’t have to fucking tell me twice. It feels like I’m sharing a twin bed again.
“I’m going to apologize in advance if I fall asleep again. Just keep watching.”
“We don’t have to—”
Her hand falls to my thigh and I swear to Christ himself, I can feel precum at the tip of my dick. From the simple touch of her hand to my thigh. I’m a fucking pathetic mess. “No, I want to.”
Want to what?
My brain is so muddled, so fuzzy, I can’t concentrate on a damn thing that’s happening other than the fact that Natalie’s hand is on my thigh and she’s sitting an inch away from me, her body heat causing me to break out in a sweat.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Okay.”
And then the show starts playing, but the hell if I know what’s going on. Nope, my concentration is shot as my cock throbs beneath the blankets of the bed. I glance down at my crotch, praying the blankets are covering me up and they are. I’m tempted to get up, to run to the bathroom and quickly rub one out, because I know all it will take is a few pumps with the image of Natalie’s hard nipples in my mind. But I’d have to walk around the bed, in front of the TV to get to the bathroom, meaning . . . she would see everything.
I’m so hard, so fucking ready, that I’m pretty sure my dick is pushing past the waistline of my shorts.
And the pain gets worse with every shift she makes on the bed. The sheets rub against me, the mattress dips. It’s the smallest of movements, but they’re lighting me up, bunching my nerves together, making me almost feel weightless as I try to control my breathing, making it sound normal, not like I’m about to come in my goddamn shorts with little to no friction.
Can you tell it’s been a long time since I’ve had sex? I’m not celibate by any means, but I’m also very careful and selective given my profession, so I end up home alone with my hand more than I care to admit.