Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Summer
Henry goes back to the couch after that night, but something has shifted between us. I find myself drawn to him. I can’t stop looking at him, like he’s full of mysteries I need to know.
The next night, I make another foray out of the apartment for another student event.
Henry wants to come with me, but I need to do it myself. “I’ll only be gone for an hour,” I tell him. “And it’s. . .”
“People your own age?”
I stick my tongue out at him. “Yes.”
“Go. Have a good time, and tell me about it when you get back.”
This time, I bump into a heavily pregnant girl my own age, and when she smiles at me, I screw up the courage to introduce myself. “I’m Summer.”
“Lily. Are you a first-year student?”
“Yep.”
“Same. I’ll be. . .” She gestures at her belly. “Not around for the first few weeks, but I got permission to bring the baby with me after that.”
“That’s awesome.”
She smiles shyly. “Yeah. I really like it here.”
“Are you new in town? Me, too.”
We exchange phone numbers, and I wish her luck with the rest of her pregnancy.
Back at the apartment, Henry hears me run up the stairs, and he’s waiting for me with his arms wide open. “It was good?”
I leap into his embrace and squeeze him tight. “It was great. I made a friend.”
“Oh, baby, that’s awesome. Good job.”
“Thanks.”
He twirls me around, then sets me down and brushes a strand of hair off my face. For a second, I think he might kiss me, but then it passes.
“I was just, uh, watching. . .” He trails off.
I throw myself onto the couch.
He grins. “Do you want to watch with me?”
We each take a corner of the couch, but I stretch my legs out in his direction as the show progresses.
When my feet brush his thigh, he drops his hand around my ankle, his fingers wrapping all the way around, and he tugs.
I wiggle into position for a foot rub, and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a half-smile. “Sore little feet?”
“Maybe.”
“Next time you want something, just ask.” He’s looking straight ahead at the TV, but when I grin bashfully, his smile grows, too. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper back. Then I wiggle my toes deeper into his grip.
As we close a few days later, I’m sweeping up while he’s resetting his two stations for the next morning.
Our conversations have shifted to more adult topics, so I decide to bring up something that’s been on my mind. “Remember when you said you don’t do hook-ups?”
In the mirror, I see him take a slow breath in and square his shoulders. “Sure. Why are you asking?”
“I’m wondering if you date people.”
“I have dated people.”
“Girlfriends?”
He presses his lips together, then meets my gaze in the mirror. “I’m forty years old, Summer. Yes, I’ve had girlfriends.”
“But you don’t have one now.”
“No.”
“Do you want one?”
He frowns. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m curious.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“It’ll be awkward if you go on a date and can’t bring her home because I’m in your bed.”
His eyes narrow, and his jaw works back and forth. A vein pulses in his forehead. “I’m not bringing a woman home this summer.”
“You’d go to her place?”
He turns around and grabs me around the waist. The broom clatters to the floor. “I see that someone wants attention.”
“No,” I protest, but I squirm into his grip instead of away from it.
“Yes,” he counters, tickling my side with his free hand. “You act like a brat when you want attention. And that’s just fine by me because I like giving you all of my attention, just. . . like. . . this. . .”
I laugh and feign, trying to get away, but his arms tighten, and he pulls me right up against his body.
Then he stiffens, and as I exhale, still giggling, I relax, and my bottom settles against what is obviously an erection.
Henry is hard.
A thick, unmistakable ridge pushes against me, and I jolt. My legs flex against his thick thighs, and I make a sound, something surprised. Oh.
Everything stops. I swear I can feel his pulse stop, his breath sucks in, and then nothing.
Just the pulse of his cock, Henry’s dick, and how it feels to be trapped in his arms.
Then he exhales, his breath brushing against my neck, and time starts again.
He lets me go, and I finish sweeping up.
I don’t look at him, just finish the task.
No more teasing. No more tickling. We’re not going to talk about it, I know that much.
I’m not going to bring up dating again, either.
Because if I did that, we’d have to talk about attraction, and how men get erections, and what that means.
What it means is that Henry got an erection while tickling me and calling me a brat.
What it means is that he caught me in his arms, held me tight, and I rubbed my butt against his cock—and how it felt.
And now I know what power I have—when I misbehave and am precocious—and what that does to my temporary guardian.