Seducing Mr. Grumpy

17. Touch, imagination, and adrenaline. [Part 2]

I sit back up on the couch, reach for the remote, and put on a comedy movie. She seems pleased with the choice and curls back up against me—legs folded, arms wrapped around one of mine, her cheek resting on my forearm… she looks so comfortable.

"I was right about this sweater, it’s perfect for you," she says, brushing her nose against my shoulder. "And have you seen yourself in the mirror? The fabric hugs your forearms in such an attractive way—when did you get so strong?"

“You work out with me every morning,” I tell her.

“Don’t even remind me. My poor thighs are screaming, they hurt so much.”

My gaze instinctively drops to her thighs.

“They look the same,” I murmur, looking away.

“Are you saying all my effort’s in vain?”

“What? No…”

“Do I have ugly thighs?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So they’re nice?”

“Didn’t say that either.”

“And my ass?”

I grit my teeth, annoyed.

“We’re not talking about your ass.”

She bursts out laughing, and that’s when I realize she’s teasing me.

“You’re such a grandpa, so traditional. You do know I’m not a virgin, right?”

I don’t respond.

“It’s normal for friends to talk about s*x, Nic. It’s not taboo anymore.”

Summer lets out a soft giggle, adjusts a pillow on my lap, and rests her head there, looking up at me. I lower my face to meet hers—to that carefree smile and mischievous gaze. She’s so flirtatious in such an innocent, harmless way—she tugs at the parts of me that still refuse to let go.

“Are you a virgin?” she asks.

I roll my eyes and look back at the screen.

“It’s okay if you are. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

She’s really starting to get on my nerves.

“Some people wait until marriage, which I actually find admirable. It’s very—”

“I know how to f**k and I f**k well, Summer.”

She freezes, eyes wide, mouth open—like she can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.

The air suddenly turns tense, and the sweater starts feeling way too warm. Everything gets worse when Summer doesn’t bother to fill the awkward silence. She just stays there, staring at me—calm, quiet… thinking about God knows what.

What the hell is she thinking?

Finally, she clears her throat and changes the subject.

Thank God.

“My parents are coming this weekend. You knew that, right?”

“Mmm…” I nod, eyes still on the screen.

She takes my hand and starts playing with my fingers. Neither of us is paying attention to the movie—it’s just background noise—but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to turn the TV off.

“I want to apologize in advance if my dad gets a little intense with you.”

“He’s going to interrogate me?”

“Probably.”

I sigh.

“I’ll be ready.”

“Thank you.”

She starts doing that little thing she’s been doing lately—kissing the tips of my fingers, featherlight kisses, over and over, like she’s tapping out a melody on a piano. It’s such an innocent movement, I know there’s nothing s****l behind it, and yet…

I shake my head, trying to push away inappropriate thoughts.

But I’m made of flesh and blood, damn it. And friendship aside, she’s too beautiful. Sometimes just a simple move from her sends my imagination into overdrive. And it’s happening more and more. It’s annoying—I've never been the type to lose control over something as basic as s*x. But lately, I…

“Enough…” I pull my hand from her mouth and rest it on her stomach, which is honestly worse.

Unaware of what’s happening to me, she shifts, adjusting herself on the pillow to face the TV. I close my eyes, stifling a groan as I feel my d**k start to harden from the way she moves.

Fuck, damn it. This f*****g life.

My hand clenches into a fist, unfortunately still resting on her stomach, which causes her sweater to ride up and more of her bare thighs to be exposed. If I tug just a little, I could see her panties—because I’m sure there’s nothing else under that fabric.

I knock my head back against the couch and try to think about something else, but Summer laughs at something happening in the movie. The sound is musical, melodic—it pulls my attention right back to her. To her neck. Where her pulse calls to my mouth… even to my teeth. Which honestly freaks me the hell out.

I’m not a damn vampire.

“Why don’t you want to record?” I ask, needing something else to focus on.

Summer stays silent for a long while, and just when I think she won’t answer, she turns to face me again. Of course, my d**k reacts—but I ignore it. f**k him. f**k everything.

“I’m not ready yet,” she whispers.

Her hand lifts to push her hair aside, but mine moves faster—I’m the one who tucks her strands behind her ears.

“Why?” I ask in the same soft tone she used.

“Mmm…”

“You think you’ll attract another stalker?” I guess, when she can’t seem to find the words.

“Is that irrational?”

“No,” I shake my head instantly. “I think it’s completely normal to feel that way.”

“I haven’t even dared to say it to my therapist, but what if what happened becomes a pattern?”

“You know you don’t want to put your life on hold because of it.”

“I know. I tell myself that every day, but the moment I think about filming, I get this paralyzing fear. It’s frustrating. And disheartening.”

“Mmm.” I frown, tracing the gentle curve of her delicate jawline with my finger. “What if I help you record?”

“You would?”

Of course I would.

“You could start with simple videos,” I say. “Maybe baking something, without showing any location or going on a trip. Just something that makes you feel safe—from home, your safe space, where no one can reach you. You know?”

She thinks about it for a long moment while my thumb presses against the corner of her mouth—damn thing seems to have a mind of its own.

“Would you really help me film?” she asks, her eyes shining. “I could do a video here, baking a dessert, putting into practice what I’m learning.”

“That’s a fantastic idea.”

She smiles then, those damn dimples making an appearance, and turns her face to kiss my thumb—content, just like she always seems to be when she's next to me.

“Let’s watch the movie,” I say.

She nods, this time only turning her head to focus on the screen.

But I’m not watching the movie—I’m watching her. And every time she laughs, it’s like she injects adrenaline straight into my veins.

I don’t know why I do it, and I don’t stop to analyze it. I’ll probably curse myself a thousand times later for being so impulsive. But right now, I just give in to what I want.

And what I want—is her.

My hand is still on her stomach, over the fabric, but I want so badly—so f*****g badly—to know what it feels like, skin to skin. A flash from that night when she lifted her top to show me her tattoo burns into my mind. The gentle curve of her breasts, the delicate cursive letters on her skin, the shape of her waist…

I bite my lip and focus on the screen, then my hand clenches into a fist and—

Fuck it.

I pull at the fabric gently, so gently—just a little, I just want to see a little.

I look at her, waiting for her reaction, to see if she’s uncomfortable, but Summer keeps her eyes on the screen.

I release the fabric and slide my fingers down her hip, to her thigh, and there—my fingers brush, barely, against her skin.

So soft. So f*****g soft.

“Sum, baby,” I whisper.

“Mmm?”

“Your pulse is racing,” I say, staring at the vein in her neck.

“Mmm.” She nods, still watching the screen.

I suppress a smile, lick my lips, and let my fingers begin to move. A slow sweep, up and down, up and down, climbing a little higher each time.

She begins to breathe more heavily, but it doesn't stop me, and for the life of me, I can't find the control to stop myself.

Still watching her—because I can’t look away—I find the strap of her panties on her hip. I don’t even look down to see the color, even though I want to know. But her expression matters more. Her bright eyes, her red lips from biting too hard, the blush on her cheeks…

And that maddening little sound that escapes her when I fist her panties and tug them upward, pressing into her skin. I can almost picture the delicate fabric digging into the lips of her p***y, and I’m desperate to know—

What does she taste like?

Is she as sweet as I imagine?

Does she make more of those sounds when she comes?

I bet she’d be so tight, she'd cling to me so hard—even if it’s just one finger inside her, I—

“The storm outside is awful, and Anson had to leave for an emergency.”

Summer nearly falls off the couch at the sound of my sister’s voice. She quickly gets up from my lap, and I shift the pillow over my lap, trying to hide.

I turn and see Heaven, closing her umbrella and beginning to take off her sweater—but she stops when she sees us.

“What are you two doing?” she asks, way too casually.

I open my mouth. Then close it.

What am I supposed to say?

I was about to finger her?

Yeah, no. I would never say that. Especially not to my sister.

Summer stands up and stretches, pretending to be tired.

“We were watching a movie, but it was kind of boring, right, Nic?”

“Mmm,” I nod, avoiding her eyes when she looks at me.

“Yeah, I’m going to bed now,” she says with her usual sing-song voice. “Goodnight, guys.”

Both my sister and I watch her walk up the stairs and into her room. When the door closes, Heaven turns to me with a questioning look, but I just growl out, “Goodnight.”

“Dom, you—”

I don’t stick around to hear the rest. I head straight to my room, then into my bathroom… and take a much-needed cold shower.

It doesn’t help.

Fuck my life.

[2/2]