Chapter 29
It is nine fifty-five, and Arthur’s ass is still firmly planted in his chair.
What. The. Fuck?
I’ve gotten into a routine. Arthur folds down the corner of the page he’s on at nine-forty. He grumbles a good night and heads to the second floor to get ready for bed. Once he’s up the stairs, I hop off the couch, brew myself a quick cup of tea, then sip the mildly caffeinated beverage while snuggling into the still-warm chair. Then, I nap, wake up an hour or so later, and get shit done.
Why is he deviating?I’ve coughed pointedly no more than three times.
That must be a really good book to throw him off his routine. He’ll probably be frustrated if I don’t point out how late it’s getting.
I make a show of glancing at my wrist, then realize I’m not wearing a watch. Because I never wear a watch.
Damn, I’m out of it. I need my tea and my nap.
I lean forward and dramatically squint at my laptop. “Oh! Look at that. Almost ten. How did it get so late?”
At my words, Arthur glances up from his reading, but makes no move to vacate his seat. As if his impending bedtime doesn’t concern him. As if he doesn’t rigidly stick to this same timetable every night, even the ones preceding days he has off.
Arthur turns his gaze my way, and I try not to look as though I’m attempting to levitate him out of the cozy lounge chair with the mere force of my mind.
“I want to practice,” he says.
The response is so different from, You’re right, Robin. Time for me to head to bed, that I need a moment to recalibrate.
“Practice . . .”
“Kissing,” he clarifies, face turned my way, but eyes focused down instead of meeting mine. “I’m relaxed.”
“Not surprised.” I set my books aside and stand from my seat with a smirk. “You’re normally in bed by now. We could’ve started practicing earlier, you know?”
His only response is a grunt, then a quick intake of breath when I slip my butt over the armrest to settle sideways in his lap. The soft cotton of his black sweatpants stretches over a set of massive thighs. Some days, I get home from work in time to spot Arthur in his garage, working out. The guy has a basic weight room setup, and watching him do squats with a loaded barbell—all that straining and clenching and sweating—is probably how immaculate conception occurs. Now, those meaty muscles offer a firm yet comfortable seat. Looping my arms around Arthur’s neck, I drag our faces closer together.
“You’d better not fall asleep on me,” I warn him before pressing my mouth to his.
Arthur doesn’t go stone-still on me, which is a big improvement. His lips immediately relax against mine and even part slightly. I hum my approval and reward him with quick kisses to the corners of his mouth and a nip to his bottom lip.
Then, I resume a leisurely pace that fits the late hour. As I taste him—a heady, natural flavor—Arthur drops his book and wraps his arms around me, pulling me in until our chests are flush.
My breath stutters, my skin flushing hot, and I clench my legs together as I try to ignore the wetness gathering at my core.
Just two friends kissing, like buddies do.
I’m a big fan of this version of friendship.
Ever so hesitantly, Arthur’s tongue sneaks out, and I’m so proud of him that I stroke mine against his, then give a little suck.
Arthur starts to groan, then cuts it off with a grunt and a tightening of his whole body. When I feel him shift under me, I know what’s going to happen next.
He’s going to stand, drop me on my ass, then flee the room.
But I don’t want him to.
I dig demanding fingers into his shoulders and beg, “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.”
Arthur pauses, entire body granite beneath me.
“Don’t get up, please.” I practically whimper the last word, but I can’t help myself. “I’m comfy.”
“Robin . . .” he rasps, and the hard length of him presses against my ass in a way that cannot be ignored.
“It’s just an erection. They pop up all the time.” I bite my lip to keep from chuckling at his raised brows. “It’ll go away. Here, we can pause for a bit.” I loosen my clutch, letting my arms settle in my lap as I lean my head against Arthur’s broad shoulder.
See? Look, I’m not dangerous!
Even so, I wait for him to make a break for it.
And I’m pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t.
Arthur’s body is warm and broad, and with his arms draped around me, I might as well be in a toasty cocoon.
So cozy.
“You don’t mind?” he asks after a long pause.
“Mind what?” My lids feel heavy, and I allow them to close over my eyes.
“That I . . . get hard?”
“No.” I shrug. “I take it as a sign that I’m a good kisser.”
“You’re a fucking fantastic kisser,” he mutters as if the fact upsets him, and I’m glad his voice is so deep that I managed to catch the compliment.
I let out a sleepy chuckle and snuggle further into his chest. “Thank you. Your skills have vastly improved.”
He snorts.
“I’m serious,” I murmur, half asleep with the soothing evergreen smell of him filling my lungs with each inhale. And a generous part of my mind that’s still conscious decides that fair is fair. Maybe he’ll be more at ease if he knows how he affects me. “Your kisses make me wet.”
Arthur wheezes out a breath that rattles through his chest and against my cheek. “What?”
“Hmm,” I hum in the back of my throat, gently rubbing my thighs together to enjoy the little tingles running over my skin and the dampness at my core.
“Robin—”
“Shh,” I hush Arthur as I rub my cheek against his worn T-shirt. “We’ll practice more in a bit.” When I rally and the steel rod in his pants relaxes.
Till then, I drift.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep because I wake up an hour later, alone in the chair, a blanket draped over me, a steaming cup of tea on the side table, and an ache between my legs that still hasn’t abated.