absentmindedly trailed her eyes down my torso. I knew it wasn’t a muffin top that she looking at. The training had had an almost immediate effect on my body. I’d always been fit, but there was a definition under my skin that hadn’t been as sharp before. My clothes fit slightly differently. I felt tighter, stronger, faster. It was a powerful feeling, but nothing compared to watching Ashleigh look over my body as if it were chocolate.
My dick stirred as she wet her lips. I reached for my glass of wine, trying to shake it off. My movement interrupted her perusal of my abdomen, and a blush spread across her cheeks.
It was different between us, not because we were in a new place, but because it felt like a date. This didn’t feel like two old friends getting together for a dinner. She was watching me because she liked how I looked, and I couldn’t stop myself from imagining how she felt.
Maybe Ashleigh had always felt this and had managed to navigate the just friends thing, but for me something had changed and I couldn’t go back to how we were. I didn’t want to. What I wanted was to spread her out in front of me and have her for dinner.
I considered her over my glass. If I pushed things, would she resist me? Could she? Should I tell her how I was feeling, or would that be too much?
“Can I top you up?” I took her drink from her hands, deliberately brushing my fingers over hers. She jumped as if I were conducting electricity. I did my best to bury a grin.
She was toast.
She was mine.
I continued to watch her as I poured more wine. She seemed determined to admire the London skyline.
“How about that tour?” I asked.
I stood and she followed me back into the living room.
I headed to the back wall, pushing back walnut concertina doors. “This is my study. I guess you could use it as a dining space if you wanted to.”
“That’s great. Big.” She ran her fingers across my desk and along the back of my chair as she checked out the books on the bookshelf.
“Are these yours? I don’t remember them at . . . Emma’s.”
“Yeah, they’re mine. I never unpacked them.”
“God, yes, I remember this one. Didn’t you read this at school? You wrote an essay.” She’d picked up a copy of Lord of the Flies and flicked to the back cover. “You were obsessed with it. You called me Piggy for the entire summer.”
I frowned, but Ashleigh was turned toward the bookshelves so she couldn’t see. “I don’t remember that. I mean, I remember reading it and being obsessed, but I don’t remember calling you Piggy.”
“You don’t? I didn’t realize until years after that it wasn’t because of my thighs—oh and this one. Do you remember? We used to take turns reading it to each other under the magnolia tree in your parents’ garden.”
I nodded as I remembered the summer we passed The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn around as if it were a secret treasure, which of course, it was. I think we spent the entire summer under that tree, reading, laughing, fighting. I moved toward Ashleigh, close enough to sweep her hair from her neck. I yearned to see more of that perfect skin.
She continued to talk about that summer, the blossom, the way that ever since antebellum had been one of her favorite words. She chattered as if my fingers weren’t tangled in her hair, lingering over her neck, tracing her shoulder blades. God, she was mesmerizing. She smelled so sweet, so like summer. How had I resisted her allure for so long? Not seen how important she was to me? How precious, how sexy? My skin felt tight, as if I were going to burst if I didn’t feel her lips on mine.
“Ashleigh,” I whispered.
But instead of turning and reaching for me as I had expected, she stilled for a second before thrusting the book back on the shelf and hurrying out of the study.
What?
Had I done something wrong? Was I imagining the electricity between us?
I stalked after her to find her stuffing her phone back in her bag. Was she
My dick stirred as she wet her lips. I reached for my glass of wine, trying to shake it off. My movement interrupted her perusal of my abdomen, and a blush spread across her cheeks.
It was different between us, not because we were in a new place, but because it felt like a date. This didn’t feel like two old friends getting together for a dinner. She was watching me because she liked how I looked, and I couldn’t stop myself from imagining how she felt.
Maybe Ashleigh had always felt this and had managed to navigate the just friends thing, but for me something had changed and I couldn’t go back to how we were. I didn’t want to. What I wanted was to spread her out in front of me and have her for dinner.
I considered her over my glass. If I pushed things, would she resist me? Could she? Should I tell her how I was feeling, or would that be too much?
“Can I top you up?” I took her drink from her hands, deliberately brushing my fingers over hers. She jumped as if I were conducting electricity. I did my best to bury a grin.
She was toast.
She was mine.
I continued to watch her as I poured more wine. She seemed determined to admire the London skyline.
“How about that tour?” I asked.
I stood and she followed me back into the living room.
I headed to the back wall, pushing back walnut concertina doors. “This is my study. I guess you could use it as a dining space if you wanted to.”
“That’s great. Big.” She ran her fingers across my desk and along the back of my chair as she checked out the books on the bookshelf.
“Are these yours? I don’t remember them at . . . Emma’s.”
“Yeah, they’re mine. I never unpacked them.”
“God, yes, I remember this one. Didn’t you read this at school? You wrote an essay.” She’d picked up a copy of Lord of the Flies and flicked to the back cover. “You were obsessed with it. You called me Piggy for the entire summer.”
I frowned, but Ashleigh was turned toward the bookshelves so she couldn’t see. “I don’t remember that. I mean, I remember reading it and being obsessed, but I don’t remember calling you Piggy.”
“You don’t? I didn’t realize until years after that it wasn’t because of my thighs—oh and this one. Do you remember? We used to take turns reading it to each other under the magnolia tree in your parents’ garden.”
I nodded as I remembered the summer we passed The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn around as if it were a secret treasure, which of course, it was. I think we spent the entire summer under that tree, reading, laughing, fighting. I moved toward Ashleigh, close enough to sweep her hair from her neck. I yearned to see more of that perfect skin.
She continued to talk about that summer, the blossom, the way that ever since antebellum had been one of her favorite words. She chattered as if my fingers weren’t tangled in her hair, lingering over her neck, tracing her shoulder blades. God, she was mesmerizing. She smelled so sweet, so like summer. How had I resisted her allure for so long? Not seen how important she was to me? How precious, how sexy? My skin felt tight, as if I were going to burst if I didn’t feel her lips on mine.
“Ashleigh,” I whispered.
But instead of turning and reaching for me as I had expected, she stilled for a second before thrusting the book back on the shelf and hurrying out of the study.
What?
Had I done something wrong? Was I imagining the electricity between us?
I stalked after her to find her stuffing her phone back in her bag. Was she
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