Page 40 of Elf-ish

He can’t have my Angelica. If I had to fuck her in front of him to claim her, I would have, only that would probably excite Walt further. My damn kiss backfired, turning Walt on. Fucker.

My initial intention was to give Angelica a chaste kiss. Keep it innocent, but make a statement.

However, the second my mouth whispered over hers, it wasn’t enough. The hint of sugar and spice was elevated by the heat of the pool. Her body wedged between mine. Her eyes saying yes and then echoed by her mouth.

She is everything that would earn me a lifetime of coal in my stocking. And I’d excavate an entire mine myself to kiss her again.

With my heavy dick in my hand, I came in two strokes and hung my head, trying to erase thoughts of the way Walt’s eyes were devouring Angelica.

The Clara effect hit again. Mine.

When I exit the bathroom wearing only a towel around my waist, Angelica doesn’t meet my eyes. She also doesn’t look at my body. Instead, she stares at her phone like the screen is more interesting than me, only I notice her thumb isn’t scrolling.

Because we don’t have much time, and technically I’m the host of the party, I swipe right on thoughts of crawling up the bed and begging her for more.

That fucking kiss.

She wants me. And I want her.

But that’s not what this is about. I cannot have one night with her and walk away.

I clear my throat. “Bathroom’s free.”

She nods, tossing down her phone and slipping off the edge of the bed.

“If you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to head out early. Make sure everything is all set.” It’s a lie. I don’t need to check on any nonsense.

Angelica gives me only a quick glance before averting her eyes again. “I can take care of myself.”

With that sassy comment, I cannot help myself. I stretch across the bed and pick up her phone, then hold it out toward her.

“You might need this again.”

Aggressively snatching her phone from my hand, she shakes her head, then taps her temple. “I have an excellent imagination. And a photographic memory.”

She spins for the bathroom, implying she’ll be imagining me and what she remembers about how she affected me earlier. I was as hard as the frozen skating pond.

I scrub both hands over my face and fall back on the bed, wincing as my back pinches but chuckling into my palms.

Score Angelica.

She’s besting me at my own game.

+ + +

Angelica is late, and I’m prepared to chastise her. Remind her how important this night is to me. How important it is to fool these fools into thinking I’ve changed my ways. Dedicated. Committed. The doting boyfriend.

But when Angelica finally enters the private dining room, irritation exits my head.

Because my girl is fucking gorgeous.

While her dress is stunning on her, I want to see it pooled around her ankles and the rest of her on display because that dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination. The curve of her hips. The solid shape of her thighs. The collar that drapes wide over her shoulders, and points like an arrow at the divot between her pert little breasts. Swells that stood at attention earlier with sharp nipples begging me to bite them.

With heavy feet, I approach my late date. My legs take their time to cross the room while my heart races a mile ahead of me. Hell, I’d be running toward her if I didn’t think I’d cause a scene. I’d have her back against a wall, and my tongue down her throat in record time.

Instead, I slowly prowl toward her, cataloging every inch of that dress. Velvet and dark green. Her hair is down and wild. She looks like a Celtic princess, and I want to bend a knee before her.

Then I want to lift the skirt of that dress and bury my head between her thighs.