Page 96 of Sour Notes

I choke on air, coughing like an idiot until Swayze rummages through my purse to pull out the bottle of water I always carry.

“You okay?” His warm, concerned gaze connects with mine the second I stop wheezing like a dying donkey.

“Yep. Sorry.” I hurriedly sit on the bench, slamming down a little too hard, and send a silent apology to my coochie, smothering the yelp by taking another sip of water.

Of course, Swayze straddles it, all grace and poise considering his ungodly size, and shuffles right up behind me.

No. Personal. Space.

I’m trying really hard to ignore the fact that his dick is now pressed against my butt. It’s not hard—thank god—but it’s a freakin’ weighty reminder of what we were doing less than an hour ago in that pool. I wiggle, trying to give it a little space.

“Mia, stop squirming, you're killing me here,” Swayze groans in my ear, low, so no one else hears. My god, he’s not…

Holy shitballs, he is.

Clearly, I spoke too soon because now my guy’s popping wood.

He curses under his breath and wraps his arms back around me, crushing his dick between us as his back drapes over mine.

Fan-fucking-tastic, I can already tell we’re going to nail this class.

I mean fail.

Not nail.

I’m not thinking about him nailing me.

Jesus fuck.

Please, god, just bring on the wine.

Katerina claps her hands. “Right, class, now that you’re all nice and close…”

She pauses, beaming right at Swayze and me. Because of course she does.

This big idiot becomes the instant teacher’s pet, wrecking panties wherever he goes, whatever the age, whatever the gender.

Naturally.

“We shall knead the clay together. There is a piece in the bucket beside you. Pick it up and put it on the wheel, working it with your hands.”

Ohhh god, here we go. I bend and swipe up a firm wet blob of clay, plopping it on the wheel in front of me.

“Ewww, it feels gross,” I squeak.

Swayze chuckles behind me, his mouth brushing my ear. “Can’t be the worst thing you’ve ever touched. You dated that dickweed.”

He catches me so unaware with that comment, I start giggling hysterically, which sets him off too, so Katerina makes a beeline straight for us.

Clapping her hands, she joins in as if we’ve clued her into our little joke.

“Ti Glykoulia, you two are… how you say? Cute. But don’t forget to work your clay like this.” She grabs my hands and sticks them back onto the squishy mound—snort—before moving Swayze’s on top of mine. “Very good. Now, Swayze, you control the pressure.”

His fingers splay between mine and she presses them down, moving our hands together, which is either weirdly sensual or I’m just horny—which, given my thirsty hellcat pool display earlier, isn't entirely implausible.

“Yes, very, very good. He’s good with his hands, uh, Mia mou?”

Swayze makes a strangled sound behind me, which, let’s be honest, is a freakin’ delight.