Page 119 of Anti-Hero

“I can work with that.”

His hand slips into the front of my pajama pants. I’m wearing boring cotton panties instead of anything sexy, but I don’t even care about my lack of lingerie. I just need him to touch me lower.Now.

My eyes close when he hits the perfect spot, the satisfaction immediate but the desperation even wilder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, circling his thumb.

I could cry; I’m so close to coming. My legs start to shake, the pressure building to an explosion that ripples through my body in ruthless, devastating, satisfying waves.

I drop my face against Kit’s shoulder, muffling my moans against his warm skin.

Even once the tremors stop, I don’t move. Why would I?

When I lift my head to look at Kit, he’s smiling softly at me. I rest a palm on his chest, appreciating the steady thud of his heartbeat before sliding lower down his abdomen.

Kit grabs my wrist before I can reach my destination. “Not tonight.”

“But you didn’t …”

His smile’s a little pained now. “Well aware. But if you touch mycock, I’m going to end up fucking you, and that’s going to ruin the wonderful impression I made with your parents because I remember how loud you are.”

“I’m not loud,” I say defensively.

“With me, you are,” he replies smugly.

I’m too tired to argue and not entirely convinced he’s wrong, so I lie down on the couch. “I’m too sleepy to walk back to bed.”

“Want me to carry you?”

My eyes are closed, but I hear the smile in Kit’s voice.

This couch is too small for him. It’swaytoo small for both of us. But neither of us mentions that.

I yawn. “In a little bit.”

“Okay.”

Right before I fall asleep, a random thought occurs to me.

I would have picked Kit to be the father of my kid. On purpose.

31

Asparrow lands on the bird feeder attached to the window above the kitchen sink, pecks at the seed once, then startles away. Next, the bird lands on the browning grass, coated with frost and sparkling in the sunshine.

“Coffee?”

I glance over my shoulder at Professor Tate. Gerald—I guess I should get used to calling him that.

“Coffee sounds great,” I say. “Thanks.”

Gerald nods, hitting a button on the coffee maker.He pulls two mugs out of a cabinet, setting them on the counter. “Sleep okay?” he checks.

“Great,” I lie.

I dozed on and off until around seven, when the sun started streaming through the living room windows. I carried Collins to her bed but quickly gave up on falling back asleep myself. There’s a crick in my neck that’s going to make driving home later hurt like hell, and my balls ache in a way that make me wonder if I’ll ever be able to give Gerald more grandkids, but I wouldn’t change a thing about last night despite the discomfort.

The coffee maker starts gurgling, the heavenly scent of a fresh brew filling the kitchen.

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