𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗

His words sounded like they were straight out of a book. In this instance, they're straight out of a book writer's mouth. I asked another question, "What about mine?" referring to my writing.

Keenan downed his drink in two large gulps before laying the glass on the table with a clink, "It's writing with space for improvement—that's what it is."

Biting my lip, I nodded. I accepted his opinion. I didn't need a sugar-coated compliment nor did I want insults.

"I started on chapter seven," I told him, back to being professional. I pulled my device out and the file for the book was the first to greet me through the screen. Keenan walked to the black sofa and occupied the space to my left.

Keenan Travino sitting beside me feels weird. It's casual. It's both simple and odd. It's also befuddling. He is befuddling, especially when his bare arm is against mine, skin against skin, sensual even though arms are innocent. I gulped.

With the proximity, every move he makes easily catches my attention. He leaned back, arm leaving mine to be draped across the top of the backrest. I can't fucking see him, but I know he looks hot. Why the fuck is he so hot? He needs to stop.

My eyes were on the screen, but I was bothered by his leg against my bare one. If he were another guy, I wouldn't be this disoriented by such little contact. "Here," I muttered, drawing his attention to the text.

"Think I can read that from here?" he asked, slightly irritated. I leaned to my right, though to no use since I was still blocking the damn screen. I'd the PC on him, but his legs were parted. I did not know what the man expected me to do, but he didn't let me wonder for long because a moment later, hands gripped my hips and I was hauled on top of cotton-clad thighs.

Holy motherfucker. I gritted my teeth, jaw threatening to crack. My legs dangled on either side of the man's legs, feet hovering above the floor. If I move back just the slightest bit, my behind would press against something.

I was holding my beloved device in my hands. Keenan Travino sat up, face right above my shoulder. When his chest touched my back, my insides failed on me. I sensed a delicious throb in between my legs and I didn't have to feel to know that I'm wet. As if I wasn't stunned enough, his one arm circled my waist.

Or so I thought. Glancing down, his hand's goal was to reach the touchpad. With two fingers on the flat rectangle, he scrolled down slowly as his eyes skimmed the pages.

The heat of his breath kissed my neck. My toes curled and I squirmed on instinct, though did shitty to suppress the involuntary movement when it worsened the situation. Grinding against Keenan felt fucking amazing.

Keenan tensed. Mouth beside my ear, he spoke lowly, "The fuck do you think you're doing?" though he and I both knew he expected this.

I stopped my writhing, "I'm not doing anything," I muttered, head turning slightly to the side, just enough to have Keenan's face in my view.

His fingers gripped the denim of my shorts. Then, he rocked me back and forth, small movements heightened by our bodies being so close. It mimicked the sensation I achieved earlier, "Uh-huh," said Keenan, "Nothing."

The laptop in my hands was a fucking hassle. The bulge on his crotch pushed against my behind and the material of our clothes were fucking irritating. Rationality aside, I placed the portable computer on the coffee table and my free hands fell to Keenan's knees. He kept guiding me against him, though I was grinding without him having to control me.