Page 58 of Going Viral for Christmas
My cock stirs instantly, hit with a bolt of heat straight to my core. I attempt to ground myself by gripping the edge of the counter with one hand, but it does nothing to stop a mental narrative from crashing in.
I’m picturing us curled up on the couch, Ava tucked into my side, watching porn with that wicked gleam in her eye, tossing out dry commentary as though it’s another Thursday?—
Until it’s not.
Until the scene on screen shifts, and she goes quiet.
Until her breathing changes.
Until she squirms.
Until my lips brush the shell of her ear and I ask:Want to try it?
Then her hand slides over my stomach, lazy at first, turning purposeful, diving into the waistband of my pants to find my hard cock, leaking, and ready.
Dipping my own hand into her leggings, palm between her legs, I circle her clit with coaxing strokes as her grip on my cock tightens. And those sounds—filthy, high-pitched moans I’ve only ever heard through a screen, now coming fromher. Louder. Needier. My name is rooted in the middle of it.
Jesus.
Subtly, I adjust myself behind the counter, praying she doesn’t notice. This girl has no idea what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does. Either way, if I don’t walk away soon, this conversation is going to take a very, very hard turn. Pun intended.
“Yeah?” I manage, voice lower than before. “That explains the accuracy.”
“What about you?” she asks. “You write spice in your stories, don’t you?”
I pick up a walnut and roll it between my fingers, much like I would her clit if I ever had the pleasure of meeting it. “I do when the story calls for it. Most of mine have been fade-to-black—until recently. Only because my publisher wants more.” My eyes meet hers. “It’s been an adjustment. I’ve always been better at doing it in real life than describing it in prose.”
Ava’s glare intensifies.
“Want me to show you?”
Her eyes go wide.
I waggle my brows.
“You’re the worst.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, you absolutely are.”
Rounding the island, my hand drags lightly along the counter. “You’re stalling.”
“How so?” She’s not looking at me as she says it. So much defiance in this one.
“First, you dodge my question. Then you try to swap the spotlight. Why are you so uncomfortable?”
Still not looking at me. “I’m not.”
My expression becomes more arrogant before I ask, “Do I make you nervous, Bells?”
Ava’s throat works around a swallow, and when she finally answers, her voice is lighter than she means it to be. “Nervous? Please. I’m not nervous. I know better than to play with fire when it’s standing six feet tall and grinning at me.” Her gaze finds mine, quick and betraying, before darting back to her glass.
My grin deepens. “So you admit I’m fire.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She takes another sip of water, but her hand trembles just slightly.
“Too late. Definitely flattered.”
