Page 25 of Almost Rotten

Not now.

Now, I’m flustered and frustrated. Annoyed and acutely aware of his presence as all my senses spark to life.

I’m mindful of how my body folds forward when I bend to take off my socks. I’m conscious of each stroke as I brush out my hair, of the way my breasts rise and fall with every breath. I swear I can see him track the movement of my throat when I swallow.

He watches wordlessly, and yet the silence is roaringly loud.

Finally, with a sigh, I turn to him. “I don’t know what you think this is going to accomplish, Ty. I’m not interested in hanging out right now. I just want to wind down and go to bed.”

“Come over here,” he says, his voice even but stern.

My instinct is to hold my ground, but if it means getting him out of here faster, I’ll do it.

On bare feet, I pad over to the love seat.

“Sit down,” he tells me.

Lips pressed together, I shake my head. “You need to go.”

He cocks one brow playfully, those dark eyes gleaming as one side of his mouth tips up on a smirk. “You need to sit.”

Before I can register what’s happening, he loops his fingers through my belt loops and tugs until I fall squarely into his lap.

As if I weigh nothing, he arranges my legs on either side of him.

“Ty,” I warn, my body going rigid.

“Shh.” He grips the back of my neck with one hand and guides my head down until our noses almost brush.

I fight his hold, arching back.

He only squeezes tighter.

Scowling, I relent, forcing my shoulders to relax to ease the strain.

“Ty,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

“I love the way you say my name,” he whispers, inching closer.

I war with myself, wanting to pull back just as badly as I want to lean in.

“I love all the little noises you make.” His breath ghosts over my cheek. “I’ve spent years dreaming about the way you’d sound when I made you orgasm for the first time.”

I freeze, anticipating the blow.

“Imagine how it felt to have to watch another man pull those little noises out of you as you came on his cock instead of mine.”

He presses my hips down, then squeezes the globes of my ass.

My body is rigid, my blood whooshing through my ears as my heart hammers against my chest. My options are to resist or relent.

Before I can choose, Ty decides for me. He presses down harder, forcing me lower.

My thighs spread without my permission, accommodating the pressure. I brace myself, hovering to keep from making contact with his groin.

He isn’t having it. Arching up, he propels me down with both hands.

The insides of my thighs burn from the stretch, and when I register the feel of him—the long, hard, prominent bulge through his athletic shorts—a gasp escapes me.