007— Too Hot To Handle.
1550 Words
...SOREN...
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I should’ve known better than to let her stay in the damn car. But no, I'd been stupid.
Now, twenty minutes into the drive, Riley sat beside me, window down, wind tangling through her hair, a half-melted vanilla cone in her hand, and that sinful, knowing little smirk curving her mouth as she licked it like it was her personal mission to destroy what was left of my self-control.
It's the second time she’d made me stop, too. The second damn time.
The first time she made me go out for roasted corn. The second, for this. Ice cream.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter until the leather dug into my palms. “You realize we’re on a schedule, right?”
She hummed, unconcerned, like I’d just told her the weather forecast. “Relax. You’ll live. Or are you allergic to fun?”
I shot her a look. Her mouth curved, and she caught a drip sliding down the cone with a slow sweep of her tongue in an obscene way. Jesus Christ.
“You know what? No more food in my car. Throw that out.” I muttered, focusing straight ahead, trying not to look at her lips.
She blinked at me with mock innocence. “This isn’t food. It’s art.”
I bit back a curse. “You’re going to spill it.”
“I won’t.” She said in a playful tone. “Unless you want me to.”
My jaw locked, as I forced my gaze back on the road, but I could feel her eyes on me, daring me to look again. “That’s enough.”
She tilted her head, feigning confusion. “What’s enough?”
“That,” I snapped. “The licking. The melting. The… everything. I don’t want that all over my car.”
Her smirk widened, eyes dark with mischief. “You mean ice cream, or me?”
I turned to her with a glare.. “Don’t push me, Riley.”
Her tongue flicked again, “Oh, but that’s kind of my hobby.”
This woman was infuriating.
Despite that, heat crawled up my neck, settling heavy in my chest. Every time her tongue darted out, my pulse kicked harder. Every glance at her mouth made my thoughts derail.
And she was doing it on purpose. I knew it.
Cassidy used to hate being in the car with me. We’d argue about everything, directions, music, even the air-conditioning. Every ride ended with silence or tears, and eventually, we’d just started taking separate cars.
Maybe that was the beginning of the end.
But this, this wasn’t like that.
With her taunting smile that made me want to lose my composure and shut her up in the worst possible way.
“Finish it already,” I said tightly, hoping she didn’t hear how rough my voice had gotten.
She lifted the cone, inspecting it like it was sacred. “What, and waste this masterpiece? You’ve got to savor the little things, Soren. You’re too tense. You probably iron your socks.”
“I do not iron my socks.”
“Do you fold them?”
“…Of course.”
She burst out laughing warmly.. It shouldn’t have made me smile, but I felt the twitch at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Oh my God, you fold socks,” she gasped between laughs.
“Normal people do that,” I muttered.
“No, robots do that,” she said. “You’re like the Terminator, but with a better jawline.”
I shot her a warning look, which only made her grin widen. “You’re testing my patience.”
“Yeah,” she said softly, licking a streak from her thumb, eyes locked on mine. “But you haven’t thrown me out yet. You must like me.”
“I tolerate you,” I said, though the words came out rough, uneven.
“Same thing,” she whispered, still not looking away.
Her shorts were too baggy, hiding the kind of curves a man like me shouldn’t be noticing—but my brain supplied the memory anyway. Earlier on, when she came out… Oh Lord.
Her wet hair clinging to her skin. She was so damn curvy! I saw more than I should’ve, and it hadn’t left my head since.
Maybe it was good she hid herself under all that oversized nonsense. The thought that anyone else might’ve noticed what I had made something dark twist in my chest.
I swallowed hard, shifting in my seat. Every muscle in my body felt wired, right now.
And then she did it again, sensually dragging her tongue over the ice cream, and I swear she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
“For God’s sake, Riley,” I snapped. “Stop doing that.”
She blinked, playing dumb. “Doing what?”
“You know damn well what.”
Her tongue brushed her bottom lip, slick and teasing. “You mean this?”
I groaned. “Riley—”
She smiled, eyes glittering. “What? You told me to finish it.”
“I told you not to get it on the car.”
“Oh, trust me,” she murmured, leaning closer until her shoulder brushed mine, voice dropping to a whisper that scraped right against my restraint. “If I get anything on your car, it won’t be ice cream.”
That did it.
I hit the brakes. The car jolted to a stop by the curb, her cone wobbling dangerously.
“Hey! What the hell?” she gasped.
I turned to her. “Out.” my voice was curt.
She blinked, stunned. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
Her lips parted. “You’re throwing me out. Because of ice cream?”
“Because you don’t know when to stop.”
“You’re scared.” she said simply.
I narrowed my eyes. “Of what?”
“Of liking me.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to. “Me?? Like you?" To my dismay, my voice came out cracked.
“We're here." She smiled, staring outside and I exhaled, thank God.
She slammed the door harder than necessary, of course as she stepped out.
“I’ll be right back,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Riley,” I called, “You’ve got two minutes. I mean it. Or I'll leave.”
She leaned into the window, licking that damn ice cream slow just to mess with me. “Make it three. You’re the CEO, remember? Who gives a crap if you’re late?”
Then she winked—actually winked—and bolted toward the mall entrance, hips swaying beneath those baggy denim shorts.
I dragged a hand down my face. “Unbelievable.”
It was supposed to be a simple drop-off. Ten minutes tops. But Riley wasn't back yet. Is she getting many things?
I should’ve left. I wanted to. I even shifted the car into gear… until I saw her bag sitting pretty on the backseat.
Of course. She’d left it on purpose. Now I've got wait or go out and give it to her if I want to leave.
That manipulative little brat.
Thirty minutes passed.
Then an hour.
What the f**k? Why am I even waiting for her like a stupid i***t??
I sighed and leaned back, glaring at her bag as if it were mocking me. She really did it, didn’t she?
I grunted. “That’s what they all say—‘I’ll be back in seconds.’”
I glanced toward the sidewalk, but she was nowhere.
Then her phone pinged from inside her bag. Once. Twice.
I wasn’t trying to snoop, but the screen lit up, and hell, it wasn’t my fault the wallpaper caught my eye.
And froze me.
Holy hell.
Riley.
Not the Riley I saw every day in oversized tees and shorts, hiding behind sarcasm and sneakers.
No. This was her in a bikini, a tiny, dark green one, clinging to her wet skin, hair slicked back, the glint of a silver navel ring catching the sun. Her full sleeve tattoo of roses made her look hot as f**k.
There was even tattoos of tiny devils curling around her thigh. Her legs—thick, strong, smooth—rested in the surf like sin itself had decided to take a summer vacation.
I couldn’t breathe.
My chest tightened painfully as I stared, transfixed.
Why the hell did she have to look like that? Why did she have to hide that body under all those layers, as if she didn’t know what kind of effect she could have?
Maybe it was better that way.
Maybe I liked that no one else got to see her like this.
I'm losing my goddamn mind!!!
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “Am I really staring??”
Before I could think, my hand was already moving. I picked up my phone and snapped it.
The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
I stared at the image again, pulse pounding in my ears, then exhaled roughly and hit delete. “What the hell are you doing, Soren,” I whispered, disgusted with myself. “Get a grip.”
- Writer
