Page 23 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
Oh, please. Does she really think that showing me her bra and booty shorts is going to make me suddenly buckle under the pressure and admit my true feelings for her? It might’ve worked the first few times I saw her, but now I’m used to seeing that much of her skin. Consider my dick unbothered.
I fight off a smug smile. “Go ahead. Be as comfortable as you’d like.”
Cali hits me back with a smile of her own, and then she unhurriedly unravels her coat, letting it hang open and slide off her shoulders like a river current rolling over mossy stone.
“Jesus Christ!” I half-scream, unsure as to why I feel the need to cover her with my body. There’s nobody around…at least I hope not.
Because Cali isn’t in her usual bra and shorts. No, she’s in a bright red lingerie set that barely covers her breasts and pussy. A lace bra—bra being a generous term—hugs her large tits, and a flimsy triangle of fabric sheathes her cunt, a thin string riding high up on her hips. She also has matching thigh garters on, which squeeze the plushness of her legs and attach to a pair of see-through stockings. So, to sum it up, she’s showing so much skin that she’d probably get arrested if she were to walk downtown right now.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I growl, averting my gaze to the best of my ability, yet the heat infusing every inch of my body is making it increasingly difficult to uphold my gentleman act. My dick’s so not unbothered. In fact, it’s seconds away from drooling pre-cum into my pants and affirming what Cali already knows to be true.
She blinks at me innocently. “What? This is what I always wear when I practice at home.”
“You’re telling me you practice in your lingerie when Teague’s home?”
“Teague’s at a friend’s house right now. Plus, this gives my dancing a more…authentic…feel. You said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“It’s not,” I croak, willing the tightness in my groin to subside, desperately trying to focus on anything other than the angry throbbing of my cock. I can’t run behind something to cover it. There’s basically nothing I can do to make this situation less embarrassing than it already is.
Why can’t I just tell her the truth? Because I’m afraid to lose her?
Okay, that’s actually a very good reason.
But maybe I won’t lose her. I mean, I’ve made it pretty obvious I like her, right? And she hasn’t run for the hills yet.
Her lips twitch into a devilish grin. “Good. Then let’s get started with your first warmup. On your back, Gage.”
I laugh. “I’m flattered, Cali. But I’m a man who needs a little bit of foreplay before we get to the good stuff.”
“If you don’t get on your back, I’ll just have to make you.”
“Kinky. Is that a promise?” I step closer to her—bad idea, I know—and trace my finger along the hinge of her jaw, stopping at her chin and tipping it up. I don’t have to lean down much to fan my breath over her champagne-pink lips, and thanks to the excessive Halloween LED lights everywhere, it’s very obvious to discern when she blushes.
And what a fucking sight it is.
Her chest inflates with an unsure breath, and I watch as the column of her throat wavers with a swallow. Her gaze is weighted as it roves over my finger, lingering before she briefly glances at my mouth. This is the closest I’ve ever been to her, and she hasn’t bitten my head off yet. This is unprecedented. An accomplishment like this should be memorialized in a museum.
Cali inches the tiniest bit closer to me, enveloping me in that cinnamon perfume or body wash that makes me absolutely feral, and I mistakenly think she’s about to kiss me before she stops short and looks down.
It’s then that I realize my, um,uninvited guest, hasn’t gotten the memo to shrink into its sadder, less impressive state. My immodest dick budges against her stomach, straining the material of my sweats, and I’m crossing my fingers that I didn’t saturate the front during her strip tease.
“I can explain,” I rush out.
She lifts a perfectly plucked brow.
“I can’t explain.”
“Admit it, Gage,” she orders. “You were jealous.”
The gloating, all-knowing tone in her voice makes my gut sour. “Was not,” I parry, adjusting the front of my pants and scraping together the leftover fragments of my dignity.
“You want to know what I think?” she whispers, dragging her manicured finger down the clothed center of my pecs, through the muscled divide of my abs, and stopping inches above my erection. “I think that you couldn’tstandthe idea of Dilbert treating me to a candlelit dinner…complimenting my dress…running his hand along the outside of my thigh in a disguised attempt to feel my skin. And I definitely think that you couldn’t stand the idea of me bouncing on hisgiant cockin the back seat of his car while I moan his name when I come.”
I lose it. Simple as that. There’s no attempt to salvage any steadfastness. I lose my fucking mind.
Something possessive coils in the pit of my stomach, rearing its head back to strike, and I nearly take my hip out when I push Cali up against the wall, one hand encircling her wrist and the other holding the sides of her neck. Her breath hitches from the impact, tits rising and falling in a film of sweat, and her whole body shudders underneath my touch.
A low growl claws up my throat. “The only name you’re ever going to moan is mine.”
