Page 16 of Kiln Me Softly

Juniper seemed to be a million miles away from this classroom, where none of the worries he felt could touch her.

Her tongue poked out as she concentrated – something that shouldn’t have been hot, and yet somehow roused the creature in his gut, the one that answered only to her.

As she coiled the clay around in layers, a delicate crease carved a triangle over the inner edges of her brows.

The pads of Aiden’s thumbs buzzed with the need to smooth it down like he would a crack in his clay.

He hadn’t seen her this engrossed since high school, and there was a serenity to it, a calm, that left him awed.

His own art had given him that same security, once.

Now, he was always worrying about the results, wondering if they would be enough to impress his father, his friends, his tutors, all of whom expected every piece he produced to be a masterpiece, because hadn’t he held a paintbrush in his hand before he could even walk?

Wasn’t he supposed to be effortlessly talented at this after twenty years of being Jonathan Whittaker’s son?

‘You’re staring at me,’ Juniper murmured without breaking her focus. ‘Stop it.’

‘Can’t.’ Not a lie. ‘What are you making?’

‘A medieval torture device, just for you.’

His lips spread into a crooked grin. ‘Kinky. I like it.’

‘Do you like your head? Because if you keep distracting me, it won’t be on your shoulders for much longer.’

‘I seemed to remember that you liked my head quite a lot,’ he quipped.

She slapped her hands to her knees and shot him daggers, and he relished the pink stains of incredulity on her cheeks. ‘ Aiden !’

‘What?’ he asked, although he was beginning to think he’d made a grave mistake in bringing it up again. Bringing it up meant thinking about it, and thinking about it meant wanting it, and…

Fuck, he wanted it. Her . No matter how badly she treated him, how much she made her disgust for him known, he couldn’t stop.

Especially not now, with her fingers caked and eyes light, fervent.

She may have been struggling, but she loved the craft, and that was sexy as hell.

He found himself suddenly jealous of the clay.

She touched it so gently, so lovingly, perhaps the only thing in the world that got to see her as her most tender, authentic self.

Proof she wasn’t all barbs after all.

Across the aisle, Tilly choked on a laugh, having clearly overheard.

He didn’t doubt that she already knew about their little hook up and ached to wonder what Juniper must have said.

She could call it a mistake, her biggest regret, but he’d heard her whimper and moan, felt her rock against his tongue for more, and knew that she’d been at his mercy for a fleeting moment in time.

He’d made her feel good, and she clearly couldn’t stand it.

His underwear pulled taut against his hardening cock, and he headed to the cupboards at the back of the room in an attempt to hide it, searching through tools in the hopes they might inspire him. Nothing.

He knew even before he saw her when Juniper joined him, the air thickening around him and the hair on his arms dancing on end. From his periphery, he watched her stand on her tiptoes to try to reach a box of fabrics, fingers barely brushing the shelf.

‘Having trouble, Hodge?’

‘Clearly not as much as you.’ She looked pointedly down at his erection.

With his mind nothing more than a fuzzy haze of her , he didn’t think when he moved behind her to grab the box she’d been reaching for.

Her breath hitched when their bodies met, cock brushing the plump curve of her ass.

He shuddered. Stepped away, unsure if he’d gone too far or not nearly far enough as held the box in front of her.

Their hands met around the rim, and he didn’t know if it was intention when she closed the distance between them.

Not until she wiggled her hips, torturing him.

He held his breath. Tried to remember where he was, and who he was with, even when his mind conjured images of her without the jeans on, without anything on.

Would she take him like this, back to him? Or would it be her riding him?

She ripped the box from his hands, bringing him back to the present. Still, she didn’t move away, shoulders rolling against his chest.

‘What are you doing with these, anyway?’ he asked, voice strained at the attempt to make idle conversation while white-hot desire devoured him.

‘Why? Feeling uninspired?’

‘I was.’ He nudged one of her waves off her shoulder to whisper in her ear, ‘not so much anymore.’

‘So the rumours are true. Men really do think with their dicks.’ She tore away from him without warning, leaving him cold – but still amused.

As long as she was spitting out those little insults, giving him the time of day, teasing him by getting just a tad closer than was necessary, he couldn’t help but be amused.

Besides, this was all the confirmation that he needed: he hadn’t imagined the chemistry between them.

This back and forth might as well have been their foreplay for all it did to convince him that he wanted her, more and more every day, and that at least a sliver of her felt the same.

He didn’t know what it was: the confidence, the honesty, the fieriness, or the fact all of those things were barely contained in the body of a gorgeous, short woman with curves no sculptor would ever do justice.

He thought that would be it, that their little fun was over again and she was back to ignoring him, but then she sighed and continued, ‘I’m using them for texture, pressing them against the clay.’ And then, pointing firmly at him: ‘ Don’t copy me.’

He lifted a brow, then two hands in mock surrender. He hadn’t even considered textures, too hung up on the building of the thing. ‘Wasn’t going to. Promise.’

But he did envy her creativity. He could create textures on a canvas, but on clay? That wasn’t something he was used to. He’d been too focused on throwing the perfect vessel, making sure every seam and curve was as smooth as he could make it.

Juniper swayed her hips as she returned to her desk, feeding his lust just a little.

Yep, he was definitely a little more creative now.