Page 17 of Tinder Embrace
"A dance," I admitted, mouth dry as the lovers moved from passionate kissing to undressing further.
"Well, I guess it is. The oldest one."
"This is uh, how you spend your Sunday nights?" I asked, desperate to quit imagining the actors replaced with us. The female lead leaned over the couch, peachy ass upturned for her partner's penetration. A bead of sweat formed on my temple, and I surreptitiously wiped it away, hoping Sophie wouldn't notice. She sat next to me, innocent as pie. Like watching hot sex together was just another Sunday. Like she didn’t care a whit that I was right next to her, unable to imagine anyone but her wet and waiting.
Her warmth called to me, the subtle scent of her shampoo making it difficult to breathe. I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in her,provoked beyond reason by the sexy imagery. Her soft curves and softer mouth, so ripe and ready, were impossible to ignore, but she seemed unaffected.
I should have escaped when I had a chance. As it was, I’d suffer all night long, aware that Sophie was only a door away and utterly out of reach.
The on-screen montage of lovemaking drew to a close, and I breathed a sigh of relief, shifting to ease the tightness in my groin.
Sophie stretched next to me, her arm barely grazing mine in a casual touch that made me ache. Apparently, she was unbothered by watching a sexy scene together. Whereas I was onfire.
"I can't believe you're watching this show," I said, not realizing how it sounded until Sophie frowned.
"You judging me right now, Davis?"
"Only because you call sex the hippity-dippity."
She shook her head. "Hazard of my day job. Even when I want to swear, I'm stuck. Habit has me using the alternative swears I've tried to adopt to avoid getting angry calls from parents."
"You say that like it's happened before," I said, curiosity taking some of the edge off my sexual frustration.
Sophie hid her face in her hands. "Oh, it has," she groaned.
I reached my good hand out, circling her wrist easily and urging her to look at me. "It can't have been that bad," I said softly.
Sophie snorted. "Oh no? Picture it: a much younger, saltier Sophie in her first year of teaching. I had limited classroom management skills and the mouth of a sailor. It wasnota good combination."
"What did you say?" I asked, fascinated by the picture she painted. One of the things I enjoyed about Sophie was her enthusiasm. I'd die before admitting it, but I loved her energy, the way she threw herself into things with abandon.
She tried to dip her chin, but I held her steady, staring into her chocolate eyes.
"You don't need to hide from me."
"A giant freaking spider dropped from the ceiling onto my arm while I was going over a math assignment. An F-bomb ensued."
"And a kid repeated it at home?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, maybe it was multiple F-bombs." I couldn't help my grin. She shrugged. "I smashed that sucker in record time, but it was traumatic, okay?"
"For thespider."
"Take it back, Davis."
I held up my hands. "Again, former vet tech here. I love all creatures, big and small." I winked at her. "Sometimes the small ones are darned cute."
She flushed, making me wish I could call back the vague compliment. I hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable.
"Anyway, so a spider was just minding his business, probably snacking on all the annoying bugs in your classroom, and you smacked it intooblivion while uttering a few choice phrases? Surely the parents understood."
"Davis, you sweet summer child,” she crooned. “You know Pastor O’Reilly. Imagine if I cussed in front of Izzy back in the day and her dad found out."
I winced. Izzy's dad was a sanctimonious tool.
"Exactly," Sophie said, grimacing.
"I had not one phone call, but three phone calls from concerned parents. Luckily, my principal had my back. Mrs. Murtaugh hated spiders."
