Page 88 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“You know, like . . .my boyfriend.” She does some weird contortion with her body and hands, as if she’s saying “my homey.” It doesn’t work for her.
“I don’t like what you’re doing right now.” I chuckle.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and tries to pull away once again, and this time I let her go.
Turning around, I tend to the vegetables, chopping them precisely like I started before while I listen to her huff behind me, grabbing a drink from the fridge. I can feel her irritation from my avoidance of the word but I want her to bring it up again. Not because I’m a dick, but because I like playing around with her. I like it when she’s feisty.
“Are you just going to stand there and chop things?” she asks, poking me in the back.
“What would you like me to do?” I ask, talking over my shoulder.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head and walks past me, heading for outside.
Chuckling, I pull on her hand and twirl her into my chest. “You’re so damn stubborn, you know that?” I lift her chin and press a light kiss to her lips, loving the taste of her cherry ChapStick. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”
“Up to you,” she answers, her lips whispering against mine. “I’m neither here nor there about it.”
“Oh, is that right? Seems like you are both here and there about it . . . if that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t.” She laughs.
“Just admit it, you want to be my girlfriend.”
She shakes her head. “I will admit no such thing.”
Pressing her up against the counter, I trap her body, igniting a flame between us. “Say it,” I demand softly, my nose running along her jaw. “Say you want to be my girlfriend, Paisley.”
“Doesn’t . . . matter to me,” she answers breathlessly.
Wanting her to admit it, I move my hand under her shirt and rub my thumb against her skin while I hover my mouth just above hers, barely a whisper between us.
“Say it, Paisley, and I will be sure to treat you like my girlfriend tonight.”
“How does that differ from any other night?”
“Because,” I whisper, “when you’re my girlfriend, I will be the ever-pressing gentleman by letting you come first every time by driving my cock into you with such force you black out, only to cuddle the fuck out of you right after.”
I hover, I don’t press my lips against hers until I hear her say the words she wants to say, and I want to watch them come out of her mouth.
“Say. It.”
She looks up at me through her eyelashes, those steely greys cutting right through me. Licking her lips, she grips on to my sides and says very quietly, “I want to be your girlfriend.”
“That’s fucking right.”
Moving in that last inch, I capture her mouth with mine, reveling in her sweetness. She can be so edgy, so feisty at times, that I love the moments where she melts into me, shedding her hard exterior she wears on a daily basis.
A low moan erupts up her throat as our tongues connect, our hands exploring more and our bodies lightly rubbing against each other, as if we’re trying to scratch a deep itch within our souls.
“Dry humping is such a lost art, isn’t it, Melony?” Hollis asks, breaking the spell between Paisley and me.
“I don’t know, I’ve have had some pretty good dry humping sessions recently.”
“What?” Hollis questions while Paisley and I pull apart. I grip her hand in mine, entwining our fingers together. “I thought you said you don’t do sex things.”
So prolific, my best friend.
“I don’t do relationships,” Melony corrects him. “Dry humping and sex, now that’s a different story.”
