Page 90 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“No.” She laughs, slapping my chest lightly.
“Hmm, that you want to get a tattoo of my face?” I kiss the top of her head. “That’s not weird at all, baby. I will give you a good picture to take to the artist.”
“You’re so stupid.”
“Mmm, not in the teasing mood?” I ask, nuzzling her hair, taking in her intoxicating scent. “Fine, what’s weird?”
“Whenever I smell chlorine, I get a flutter in my belly. The smell reminds me of you.”
From the bottom of my belly a laugh erupts.
“Why are you laughing at me?” Sitting up, her hand on my chest, her brow comes together. “It’s not funny.”
“Calm your tits, baby. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing at—”
“At me,” she huffs.
I can’t help the smirk that escapes me. “Fine, I’m laughing at you. But it’s cute, does that make you feel better?”
“Last time I tell you something.”
Flipping to the other side of the bed, she pulls the covers over her shoulder and faces away from me, boxing me out. It’s funny to me that she actually thinks turning away will stop me from talking or touching her. Scooting to her side, I palm her stomach and with one swift yank, pull her into my chest. I land my head over hers and kiss her cheek.
“Are you looking for attention, baby? I can give you attention, just tell me where.” I kiss her cheek, down her neck, and rest on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. With a nip, I get her attention.
“Stop that,” she says with a light tone. “You can’t try to charm me with your sexual ways.”
“Well, how the hell else am I supposed to charm you then?”
“Maybe with your mind.” The pompous but humorous tone doesn’t escape me.
I pull away from her and rest on the mattress, my hands behind my head and my gaze at the ceiling. “My mind, huh? What a novel idea. All right, how’s this? About one hundred people choke on ballpoint pens every year.”
Nailed it!
Slowly, Paisley turns around, pulling on her ear slightly, confusion written all over her face. “What did you just say?”
“People choke on pens.”
“Why is that something you would tell me?”
“You told me to charm you with my mind. So I told you a fact. Chicks dig smart guys.”
She shakes her head, turning completely around to face me, the sheet falling just above the crest of her breasts. “Not guys full of useless facts.”
“Useless?” I repeat, insulted. Sitting up, using my elbows to prop my body up, I say, “How is that useless? It’s far from useless, more like a public service announcement. I’m doing you a favor.”
“How is that?”
I think about my answer, giving myself time. “Next time you’re writing away in your little notepad and come to a halt, trying to figure out what else to write, and you find the need to bring the plastic flute up to your mouth for a little nibble, you will remember my VERY USEFUL factoid about choking on a ballpoint pen.”
“I use felt-tip,” she counters, the smart-ass.
I press my lips together. Shit, this girl can cut a man down at his knees. “Last time I share with you.” Pulling a Paisley, I turn to my side of the bed, this time boxing her out. See how she likes it. Too bad I can’t hide the smile that graces my lips.
“Oh my God, are you really going to pout?”
“My feelings have been hurt, I’m a wounded man, bleeding from my soul.”
