Page 45 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“Yeah. The bun was giving me a headache.” I flopped back onto the couch, arranging my legs just so, which would have been much more effective without the baggy sweatpants, but taking them off was probably a step too far. I heard the Wicked Witch’s cackly voice in my head: These things have to be done delicately. Yes. That would be my key word—delicately. I would delicately entice him with my delicate lavender scent. I would delicately parry his advances. And then perhaps I would indelicately bang him right here on the couch.
“Want to watch one more?” he asked.
I shrugged, fake-stifling a yawn, as if I didn’t care whether he stayed or went. “OK.”
As Charlie poured himself another couple fingers, I curled into the corner of the couch like I had last night and pulled the blanket off the back of it.
“You cold?”
“A little.”
“Here.” Charlie nestled into the other corner and opened one arm to me. “Come here.”
Feigning suspicion, I gave him an apprehensive look, and he rolled his eyes.
“Relax. I’m not going to feel you up, grandma. I’m just offering to cuddle.”
I sat up straight. “What? Mr. I Don’t Do Affection wants to cuddle? Stop the madness!”
He reached behind his back and threw a little beaded pillow at me. “Offer expired. You lose.”
“Oh, stop.” I hit play on the next episode and scooched over to him, curling up against his side like a cat, the blanket over my legs. Between the whiskey and our shared body heat, I was cozy warm in minutes. Well done, Erin.
At first he kept his arm along the back of the couch, but eventually he let it fall onto my shoulders. “Nice move,” I whispered.
He pulled my hair in response.
As good as the show was, my mind started to wander. This felt really comfortable. Charlie was being so nice, too nice. And he smelled good—like Autumn Orgasm still but now there was something new in the mix. Cologne, I realized. He’d put on cologne. It was subtle, masculine, a little woodsy. Winter woods, the kind where you can still sort of smell the dead leaves even though they’re covered with snow, and someone has a fire in their fireplace nearby and maybe they put pine cones in it. I glanced at my fireplace, which had never been used, because I didn’t know how to build a fire.
“Hey Charlie,” I said, “do you know how to build a fire?”
He chuckled, and I felt it in his chest. “Yes. Charlie can make fire.”
I slapped his stomach. And left my hand there. “Maybe we can buy some wood and you can show me. We had a gas fireplace at my parents’ house. But I like the smell of wood burning.”
“Sure. But I’ll warn you—it’s dirty. There’s a lot of ashes involved.”
“Erin can clean fire.” I mimicked his caveman voice.
He poked me in the side, making me giggle, and we went back to watching television—well, I assume he did. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. How warm he was, how hard and muscular his body was, the perfect combination of angles and curves. I wondered what he would be like during real sex, the kind you have with someone you love, the kind that’s slow and tender and without pretense. Would it feel the same? Would he whisper sweet things along with dirty ones? Would he hold me afterward? Sucking my lips between my teeth, I glanced down at his crotch, praying to God he wouldn’t notice, although this didn’t really seem like the type of prayer God should spend time on.
His zipper area looked a little rumpled but I didn’t see any telltale bulge of an erection. Maybe he wasn’t lying before and he really doesn’t find me attractive tonight. And what the hell are you doing anyway, imagining Charlie Dwyer making love to you? That will never happen.
But other kinds of things might happen.
I shifted my position, as if I was just stretching a little, and let my hand slip a little lower on his stomach.
“Nice move,” he whispered.
I pulled it away. Damn him!
But a moment later, he shifted his position too, lifting his hips a little and tugging on his jeans. Without moving a muscle, I let my eyes wander to his crotch again.
If I wasn’t mistaken, his pants looked a little tighter in the erection zone. I smiled, snuggling in a little closer. If he was getting hard, it was only a matter of time, right? Guys couldn’t just turn that off.
I forced myself to focus on Walter and Pinkman. But after a few minutes, I was so warm and comfortable that my eyes began to drift shut…
When I opened them, the room was dark, the TV was off, and I was stretched out on the couch, a blanket covering me from shoulders to toes. Groggy, I sat up, the events of the previous evening slowly filtering through a whiskey-flavored cloud of confusion. I sniffed and looked around.
