Chapter Eighteen #2
I blow gently on the sauce first before sliding the spoon between her lips.
And fuck me.
Watching her mouth close around that spoon almost kills me.
My brain immediately replaces it with my cock, and I have to physically shake the thought away before I embarrass myself.
Her eyes widen as she swallows. “Holy crap,” she whispers.
I pull the spoon from her mouth and instantly shove it into mine, trying not to think about the fact that her lips were just wrapped around it.
“You like?”
Throwing the spoon into the sink, I watch her grin.
“Caleb, you constantly surprise me.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me closer until I’m standing between her legs again.
“Good surprise?”
“Very good surprise. I had no idea you could cook or fix things.” She smiles softly. “Next thing you know, you’ll be talking to me about politics and world issues.”
I snort. “Okay, I have to draw the line somewhere. I can’t be perfect at everything.”
Throwing her head back, she laughs loudly, and the sound does dangerous things to my chest.
Seeing her like this… relaxed, glowing, genuinely happy… it’s addictive.
She looks alive tonight.
“I guess that’s fair,” she says while tugging me closer again. “Anyway, I don’t know anything about politics either, so that conversation would’ve been boring as hell.” She leans closer until her lips brush mine. “But I can think of something much less boring for us to do.”
“Oh yeah?” I murmur. “And what’s that?”
“Kiss me, Caleb.”
I don’t hesitate, crashing my mouth onto hers harder this time, sliding my hands down her back until I grab her ass and pull her toward me. She gasps softly into my mouth before wrapping her legs around my waist while I lift her from the island.
I carry her across the kitchen and pin her gently against the wall, her body trapped deliciously between me and the plaster while her tongue tangles hungrily with mine.
She kisses like she wants to ruin me.
Her fingers twist into the hair at the base of my neck, tugging hard enough to send heat roaring through my body.
My cock thickens instantly, and I grind against her through our clothes without even thinking.
The soft material of her pajama pants does absolutely nothing to hide the heat between us.
A moan escapes her lips when my erection presses harder against her, and my control nearly snaps clean in half.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this ‘just kissing’ arrangement if she keeps kissing me like this.
Then the kitchen timer suddenly blares through the apartment, and we both jerk apart slightly and stare toward the stove before looking back at each other.
Both of us are breathing hard.
Her forehead drops against mine, and she smirks breathlessly. “Definitely talented in the kissing department.”
I laugh quietly.
Slowly, she unwraps her legs from around my waist, and I lower her carefully back to the floor, keeping her pinned lightly against the wall for another second longer than necessary.
Her gaze drifts. “Down, boy,” she teases while eyeing the bulge straining against my jeans. Then she swallows hard and gently pushes me backward before escaping toward the stove.
I rake a hand through my hair and subtly adjust myself in my jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure before I completely lose my mind.
Walking up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss the top of her damp hair while she strains the pasta.
“You are going to cause me so much trouble,” I murmur against her ear before lightly biting her earlobe.
She squeals softly and slips from my grip with a laugh before mixing the pasta into the sauce.
“I think we’re going to be trouble for each other, Caleb.” She glances back at me over her shoulder. “So let’s just eat dinner, yeah?”
Honestly, dinner sounds like the safest possible option right now because if I keep touching her, I’m going to start wanting a hell of a lot more than kissing.
We plate up the pasta and move into the living room, settling onto the world’s most uncomfortable couch. The sauce turned out fucking amazing, but unfortunately, all I can focus on is the way Indi keeps sucking strands of pasta through her soft lips.
Which is not helping my current situation at all.
We eat while some terrible soap opera plays quietly on her tiny television, but I barely notice any of it. My attention keeps drifting back to her.
The way she curls one leg beneath herself.
The way her foot rests against my thigh.
The little glances she keeps throwing me between bites.
The magnetic pull between us feels impossible to ignore.
I want to pull her into my lap.
I want to kiss her again.
I want to drag those ridiculous pajama pants down her legs and finally feel her skin against mine properly.
But I won’t.
Because if this friendship arrangement is going to work, then I need to prove I can respect her boundaries.
Still… the way she keeps smirking at me tells me she feels this, too.
That same pull.
That same tension crackles between us.
And honestly, I don’t know how much longer my self-control is going to survive sitting this close to her without completely combusting.