I attempt to wriggle beneath him, to find friction. He’s the worst.
The. Worst.
I’m not suggesting every man I’ve had sex with has been an expert on female anatomy, but they at least attempted (even if it was inaccurate and clumsy) to find that magical little nub.
How can one guy have so much physical appeal and potential and then waste it by being bad at sex? This is why I don’t screw men who live in my building. From now until the time that one of us moves out, it will be awkward. He will see me and smile like he’s all that, but I’ll know the truth. And the most I will be able to offer him is a cringe before averting my gaze and running in the opposite direction.
“Fuck!” I wince. “Stop biting my nip—”
Oh. Sweet. Baby. Zebras …
Eric kisses me like God himself stopped by and gave him a tutorial on how to kiss a woman. At least, I assume God would be good at kissing. Things to think about later …
My fingers claim his hair because I will physically do harm to him if he ever stops kissing me. Eric engulfs every inch of me with his body, bringing all of my senses to life as his hips prove that they do know about the special little clit. He hits it just right every time.
Eventually, my lungs demand oxygen as he takes us both to the finish like a goddamn Kentucky Derby winner.
“Eric … fucking … Steinmann!” My mouth rips from his on my victory cry two seconds before he collapses on top of me.
With his head buried in my neck, he chuckles. “You’re welcome.”
I can’t even argue. Nope. Not at all. He earned it. Man … did he ever earn it.
After a few moments, he eases off me and saunters his naked ass to the bathroom. Staring at the clothes on the floor, I question my next move. I mean … I live down the hallway. It’s not like I can say it’s too late to drive home or catch an Uber. Without giving it a second thought, I slide into my capris, tug on my shirt, and gather my undergarments and shoes in my hand before tiptoeing to his front door. I hear the toilet flush as I ease his door open and, just as quietly, shut it behind me before scurrying to my loft. When I turn the corner into my bedroom, the hall light illuminates.
“What do we have here?”
I cringe and pivot toward Freya with her messy red hair, boy shorts, and a black tank top. “Hey.”
Her gaze locks on my arms cradling yellow sandals, a bra, and panties. “Looks like you bolted. Why did you bolt? Poor guy’s going to feel rejected. Seriously … I’ve never seen you home the same night. Did he kick you out? Is he a weird sleeper? OCD? Bed hog? Did you start snoring?”
I roll my eyes. “No to all of the above.”
“The sex was that bad?”
“No. Just…” I shrug “…the opposite.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh … my … god. You like him. Like … like like him. He crawled under your skin, into your panties, and you don’t know what to do, so you left.”
Shaking my head, I turn on my bedroom light and dump my stuff on the floor. “We live in the same building. It just didn’t make sense to stay all night.” After plucking a nightshirt from my dresser, I change tops and shimmy out of my capris.
“So you said goodbye. You didn’t sneak out. Is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s late.” I squeeze past her to the bathroom. “We had sex. It was good. I have to work tomorrow. End of story.” I close the door.
“Are you going to have sex again with him?”
I plop onto the toilet and close my eyes. “No. We live in the same building. It shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did. One and done. Time to move on.”
“Mmm-hmm … whatever. Goodnight.”
Chapter Six
I sneak out the next morning while Freya’s in the shower. Checking the hallway through my door’s peephole first, I make a dash for the stairs when I see the coast is clear.
“Morning, Anna.” My neighbor, Peter, smiles at me as I unlock my bike from the rack.
“Good morning.”
After securing my bag’s crossbody strap over my torso, I start to walk toward the door.
“Eric … fucking … Steinmann!” Peter yells.
I freeze. So does my heart. My breaths. And thankfully my bladder before I wet my pants.
“Dude … someone had a good night. Either the walls are a lot thinner than I realized, or you are some sort of god,” Peter continues harassing Eric.
Praying for invisibility, I inch my bike toward the door without a glance backward.
“Anna banana … our neighbor heard you last night,” Eric says.
No. He. Didn’t.
He did not just call me out in front of Peter.
I swallow my embarrassment and will away the flushing of my face as I glance over my shoulder just before reaching the door. “In your dreams, Steinmann.”
Peter laughs, giving me a cheeky grin like he knows Eric is making shit up about me. I smile to confirm the ridiculousness of it before blowing a mock kiss to Eric Fucking Steinmann.
Dying—seriously dying—inside, I hop on my bike and bolt toward the cafe. I fully anticipate company, and within minutes, I’m greeted with a familiar spicy scent and soft lips at my ear as Eric steps in line behind me.
“Coffee, black. Meet me next door,” he whispers, slipping something into my pocket and disappearing out the door.
It takes me a few seconds to move. He’s really good at breathing down my neck, dissolving my panties, and turning my resolve into mush. Retrieving the twenty he slipped into my back pocket, I risk a glance back, but he’s gone. Men like Eric should come with a warning. He’s relentlessly … everything.
Relentlessly sexy.
Relentlessly intriguing.
Relentlessly opinionated.
“Welcome. Let me know if I can help you with anything,” a young blond woman says when I slip into Eric’s T-shirt shop with coffees.
“Actually, I’m here to see Eric.”
“Oh! You must be Anna. He’s in his office. It’s right back there beyond the restroom.”
He told his employee about me. I wonder what he said.
“Thanks.” I return a hesitant smile before toting the two cups of coffee toward the back.
“Good morning. Shut the door.” Eric leans back in his chair and props his feet up on the desk—red tennis shoes with white laces. From their pristine appearance, I’d say today is the first day he’s worn them. They go well with his white shirt that has red lettering: I don’t bite … usually.
“Black coffee.” I shut the door, hand him his coffee, and dig out his change from the pocket of my gray skort.
“You can keep the change.” He smirks right before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I’m good.” I lay it on the desk and start to step back, but he snakes his hand around my bare leg.
“Did you sleep well?” One hand inches up my leg while he casually sips coffee with his other hand.
I swallow hard when his fingers graze the bottom of my ass and his thumb stops at the apex of my legs. “I did,” I squeak. “You?”
He shrugs. “I got more sleep than I planned on getting.” Again, he sips his coffee like his other hand isn’t planted in my very personal space.