Sugar Rush (Friend-Zoned 3)
That ass.
Fuck me, that ass.
My forehead hits the fridge with a thump. My hand slides down to cup my semi-hard dick and squeezes it tight. I can’t stop thinking about her. Her damn body looks like it was made to fit mine. It’s teasing me, taunting me every time I see her. Toned and firm, thick in the places it should be, a smart, kissable mouth, those sexy pouting lips, tits that would fit nicely in my palms, long, wavy, dark hair, green cats eyes, and long lashes.
All I want to do is bend her over and let my hands roam. I want to feel her body, hold her hips tight, her ass pressing back against me as I grind into her, her looking back at me through hooded lids, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted, breathing erratic.
I bite my lip. My eyes shut in a mixture of pleasure and pain. I can’t deny it. I want her in my bed. But she’s a lady, not the type to fuck around. I won’t lie. That just makes me want her more. Broads are broads. I’ve never wanted a broad for anything more than to warm my bed. Helena’s a lady. That’s a whole different story. My mind wanders. Is she quiet in bed, or does she moan loudly? I bet she’s a quiet one. I’d also bet I could make her scream.
Stop it, moron. My hand squeezes my cock harder. I groan, then whimper.
Shit.
I need to get laid.
***
Helena
Why must he taunt me? As if it’s not bad enough that he’s gorgeous and his body is something out of Men’s Health magazine, he’s funny when I don’t want him to be. And that sucks! It’s true I didn’t want this private training position, but I have to admit I spent the afternoon researching things I can do with Ceecee, and I’ve got to say I’m excited about it. If she knocks back the things I’ve found, I’ll just search and search ‘til I find something that suits her.
It won’t be easy, but I have to try. I hate to see her so miserable, and I don’t like seeing normally happy Max so sad. He annoys me, but I don’t want him unhappy. Being happy is in his nature. To take away something from a person that is a natural reaction is cruel. As much as I want Ceecee healthy, I want Max content.
I slip out of my work clothes and make my way to the bathroom, and just as I switch on the bathroom light, I lean down and hiss at Tedwood a split second before he gets to me. He scrambles in the opposite direction and I chuckle quietly. He’s not such a bad cat once you get to know him. A little broody, sure, but a complete coward.
Just as I place one foot into the warm spray of the shower, claws and teeth attach themselves to my leg. “Motherfucker!” I shake my leg in the air, Tedwood firmly attached, and yell, “Stop being an asshole, asshole!”
Why won’t this day end already?
Chapter Nineteen
Helena
How great are showers? Not only are they a pretty decent way to wash off stank, they’re also relaxing as heck. I spend a good half-hour letting the borderline boiling water wash away the day’s frustration. For some time, I simply stand under the spray and bask in the feeling of being submersed in my own little bubble of tranquility.
Today not being a hair-washing day, I turn off the shower and step out. With the bathroom door wide open, I towel myself off before slipping on a white t-shirt bra and light blue boy-leg panties. Just as I’m about to step out of the door, a loud crash sounds in the kitchen.
I jump as the crash reverberates through my ears, but quickly sigh, “Teddy. Goddamn it, cat!” My feet are dragged from the bathroom to the hall. I squeak, then squawk, “What the hell
are you doing here?”
Max doesn’t look up. Instead, he finishes plating up steak, potatoes, and salad onto plates. “Don’t you use that tone with me, cupcake. Here I am slaving away over a hot stove all afternoon so we can eat together, and you stiff me. So I bring you dinner after a long day’s work, and you use that tone?” He straightens, then tuts, “Working girls.”
His eyes move to mine, widen, and then slide over my body. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think he drools a little. When his stunned expression is replaced by a leisurely grin, dimple flashing, he drawls, “I wasn’t expecting dinner and a show.”
That’s when I’m reminded I’m standing in the hall in my underwear. Not even my good underwear, but my Helena’s-sleeping-alone-again underwear. My mouth wants to gape, but I stop myself. Instead, I decide to play it cool. Heart racing, I fake poise and murmur, “I’m going to change.”
Max grins harder, placing a hand to his chest. “Please, don’t dress on my behalf.” I walk to my room, acting as normal as possible, but cringe when he calls out from behind me, “I like your undies. They’re not the usual type I see women wear. They say, ‘I’m cool and I don’t care what you think’. That’s cool. I mean—”
I can’t take his incessant rambling right now. “Max, shut up!” I shriek.
His booming laughter fills my kitchen, and although I could die from embarrassment, I like the sound of his unrestrained hilarity. My lips twitch when I realize he baited me…and I fell for it. I mutter under my breath, “Ass.”
I quickly change into black yoga pants and a large, loose yellow tee and join him in the kitchen. He’s already placed the plates and cutlery down on opposite sides of my small dining table. It smells amazing, but we’ll be sitting so close together our knees will touch. It seems far too intimate.
My favorite yellow vase lies in the sink in pieces, and I’m reminded of the crash I heard. I narrow my gaze at Max. His eyes dart from side to side, clearly panicked. He suddenly blurts out, “Someone broke that.”
Standing a foot away from the table, my body slumps in restlessness. “Why are you doing this?”