“You have a trick quarter.”
“It was from your purse.”
Valid point.
“Ugh, fine. But I’m warning you, don’t consider this an invitation to gawk at me.”
“Oh, like you haven’t been gawking at me this entire time. And don’t you even try to deny it. I see the way you look at my stomach, lust and desire swimming in your eyes.”
“Oh, get over yourself. You’re delirious and exhausted.”
“Either way, you want me,” he says with a pant-load of confidence.
Grumbling to myself, I take off my pants and sit on top of them so my bare ass isn’t on the elevator floor. Thank God this is a really, really nice building because if Emory and Knox lived in a pit of an apartment, there is no way I’d follow through on my bet.
Jason scans my side and then the other, observing my choice of underwear. “Are you wearing a thong?”
“Yes.”
“Stand up so I can make the final assessment on that.”
“It’s a thong,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, but I should still see.”
“Bite me,” I answer back.
“Where?” He wickedly grins.
“Oh, you would love that, wouldn’t you, getting a chance to bite me wherever you want?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m bored. Let’s make things interesting.” He rubs his hands together. “Where do you want my mouth?”
If he wants to bite me, he can bite me all right.
I lift up my shoeless right foot and wiggle my toes at him. “Mr. Big Toe wants some attention.”
“Mr. Big Toe?” He quirks a brow.
“Yup. He’s lonely. Make your teeth his new best friend.”
“Fine.” Before I can stop him, he grabs my ankle and chomps down on my big toe, pressing hard, just hard enough that I yelp and retract my foot quickly.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, scanning my toe where I spot definite teeth marks.
“You told me to bite you, so I did.”
“Not really. Are you insane?” I rub my toe. “If anything, I thought you’d be stupid sensual about it, not actually try to eat Mr. Big Toe.”
“You can never tell what I’m going to do. Let that be a lesson to you.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
JASON
I’m.
In.
Hell.
HELL!
Yes, it was my idea to lose clothes, but I really didn’t think she’d be that terrible at hangman and heads or tails. Who loses that many times? Just embarrassing.
When she took off her shirt, I had to suck in my tongue from falling out of my mouth.
Sure, I made it seem like I wasn’t interested in the goods with my casual response of “they’ll do.” But I’ve never told such a boldfaced lie before in my entire life.
They won’t just do. Dottie’s tits will be the star of my dreams for weeks to come.
Plump, almost spilling out of the tops of her bra and firm, but also look like they would be heaven to rest my head on. And because it’s a cool temperature in here, her nipples are poking against the thin, lace fabric of her bra and they’re nipples I could see myself getting along with. Not quite the torpedoes I hoped for, but not pint-sized peas either.
I caught myself leaning toward her a few times, lips pursed, ready to suckle. Thank God, she’s been clueless or else I’m sure I would have heard about it.
After a while, I started to get used to her topless, but now that she doesn’t have pants on, yup, my jeans are feeling tight in the crotch and I’m doing everything in my power to keep myself in check.
“Do you always wear thongs?”
“Why is that a question you’re asking?”
Because all I can think about is you, in a thong, sitting on the luckiest pair of pants ever. I wonder what she would say if I offered her to sit on my face instead of the cold hard floor . . .
“Just trying to get to know you.”
“How about this, do you always wear thongs?” She crosses her arms over her chest which only lifts her breasts up more. I swear she’s doing that on purpose.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Only on long runs.”
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay.”
“I do,” I answer honestly. “My friend Holt introduced me to the man thong in college, said it held his junk close to him while running, but he also had the added benefit of his shorts brushing against his bare ass. So I decided to give it a try and I’ve never looked back.”
“Wait.” She blinks a few times. “You mean to tell me, if I went into your apartment, pulled open your dresser drawer, I’d find a collection of male thongs?”
“Yup. My favorite ones are leopard print.”
“Stop it. You do not have a leopard print thong.”
“Want to bet?”
“No,” she answers immediately and with finality. “No more bets.”
“Okay, then how about we just agree that I have one and we start making out?”
We’re both sitting up, facing each other, and if any time is the perfect time to make out with someone, it’s when you’re stuck in an elevator.
“We are not making out.”
“Scared?”
“No. You’re not my type, and I don’t waste kisses on boys not my type.”
“Oh damn.” I smile and lean back on my hands. “For some odd reason, even though it denies me your lips, I really liked that response.”
“We’re never getting out of here. Emory’s plants are going to die,” Dottie says, after the two-hour mark hits.
“I wonder what floor we’re on,” I say, looking at the ceiling as if that will tell me.
“It felt like we were pretty high, but who knows. I blacked out from rage being stuck in an elevator with you.”
“Rage seems like a strong word.”
“Rage is accurate. You’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“So you said.” I poke her leg. “But aren’t you glad I’m here?”
“Why do you make me be mean to you? You know what my answer is going to be.”
“Hey.” I stand tall so she has to take all of me in. “I’ve been entertaining, I shared my dinner with you, and I’ve only stared at your boobs a few times.” Because they are fucking sexy and if I looked more than a few times, I’d seriously need to fuck you senseless. Talk about self-control, people. “I think you should be grateful I was the one you got stuck in an elevator with.”
She stands as well, in all her almost naked glory. Hands on her hips, she goes to say something just as the door to the elevator opens and Mr. Trigger at the end of the hallway stands there, mouth agape, staring at the both of us.
Dottie squeals and covers up, holding her clothes over her body as I, like the chivalrous man I am, stand in front of her.
“Mr. Trigger,” I say in a cool, even tone, “you’re looking handsome tonight. Dinner plans?”
He narrows his eyes at me and points his cane. “You youngins have no class. Keep it in your pants.”