Page 56 of Knot So Fast
"I'll serve, but you need to get settled over there while I finish plating everything."
She huffs dramatically and heads toward the bar stools.
"The island is so uncomfortable though."
"Why's that?" I ask, genuinely curious about her complaint as I watch her approach the seating area with obvious reluctance.
"Well," she mutters as she stands in front of one of the stools without actually sitting down, "you brought me everything except underwear, so sitting with bare skin on the cool metal surface of these bar stools is going to result in a sticky situation that ends with me being literally stuck to the furniture."
The realization hits me like a brick, and suddenly I understand exactly why she's hesitating.
She's not wearing anything under my jersey except her own skin, which means every time she moves or shifts position, she's going to be reminded of her nakedness in the most intimate way possible.
Or better yet, her getting wet…the dripping of her slick onto those barstool surface for him to smell…fuck.
I turn away from the stove where I've been keeping the soup warm, knowing the bread needs a few more minutes in the oven to reach that perfect golden-brown crust she's always loved. As I walk toward her, I can see the defiance building in her eyes—that familiar challenge that always manages to turn me on in all the right places, even when I know I should be maintaining some semblance of professional distance.
I lean over the island from the opposite side, bringing us face to face across the marble surface, close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in her unusual eyes.
"You hate underwear anyway," I point out, my voice dropping to a lower register automatically.
She smirks and leans forward to meet me halfway, giving me a sinister grin that makes my pulse spike as she whispers, "I remember that particular detail."
The intensity of our shared look is so electric, so charged with unresolved tension and suppressed desire, that it's taking every ounce of self-control I possess not to vault over this damn island to eliminate the distance between us.
The air between us practically crackles with the same energy that used to consume us both, that magnetic pull that neither of us has ever been able to resist for long.
"Sugar," I whisper, and the endearment comes out as both a warning and a plea. I can see that familiar twinkle in her eyes, the one that tells me she knows exactly what she's doing to me and is enjoying every second of my internal struggle.
I know in the depths of my soul that she's pushing me on purpose, testing to see if I'll break and give in to the temptation that's been driving me crazy for months.
And God help me, I'm so fucking close to snapping that it's actually painful.
"What?" she asks with fake innocence, that wicked smile growing wider. "Afraid of the big bad wolf?"
She punctuates the taunt by leaning further across the island, and the new position forces me to look down at how the jersey falls open at the neckline, giving me a perfect view of how her breasts press against the cool marble surface.
The sight reminds me with devastating clarity of exactly how plump and perfect they are, how those nipples are probably hardand aching for attention right now, how they used to feel in my hands and taste on my tongue.
Fuck,I curse silently, my cock growing impossibly harder as more blood rushes south.
"I'm not afraid of consequences," I manage to say, though my voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
That only makes her smile grow more predatory as she whispers, "Then stop being a cautious wimp and make me feel good,Wolf."
The way she says "Wolf" makes something click into place in my brain, a realization that hits me like a bolt of lightning.She knows.She's figured out the connection between me and her gaming partner, put together the pieces that I thought I'd been so careful to keep separate.
I need to confirm this suspicion, need to know for certain how much she's discovered about our virtual relationship.
"I don't think you can handle the spice, Sugar," I whisper, using the same challenging tone I employ during our online racing sessions.
Her eyes narrow at the challenge, pupils dilating with arousal and competitive fire as she whispers back, "Then maybe my WolfPack underscore Alpha should take the lead and test out that theory."
My cock actually twitches at the revelation, the proof that she's not only figured out my gaming identity but has been playing along with full knowledge of who I really am.
She knows that I'm her mysterious racing partner, that I've been the one building tension with her in that virtual world week after week, creating this elaborate fantasy where we could interact without the complications of our real-world history.
And now we're here together in the space we used to dream about sharing, the newly built sanctuary that was supposed to be our sanctuary from the rest of the world. This is my chance—maybe my only chance—to have her again, to remind her body of what we used to mean to each other, to break through whatever mental barriers are keeping her from remembering how good we were together.
