Pier Pressure by Anyta Sunday

Author:Anyta Sunday [Sunday, Anyta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

If we’d parted ways after that, it all would’ve been fine. But living together meant walking to the bach side by side, and once we’re in the bach, I’m confronted with the terrifying fact I can’t sneak into my bedroom and hide under my covers. I have to share his bed.

Damon keeps trying to snag my gaze, and I evade him, fussing about with my little sewing project.

He laughs softly and disappears into his room, and when he comes back out again in only his boxers, I cut too deeply into my pattern. I yank my gaze back to the fabric.

“Made the bed fresh.”

“Go right ahead to sleep,” I say.

Damon hums thoughtfully, grabs a book, and throws himself onto the sofa. My ears strain for the churring sound of turning paper, and hearing none has me flustered. He’s watching me. Waiting for me.

Well, I can outwait him. My chef’s apron will be perfect, and will have a front pocket. And I’ll embroider my name onto the straps . . .

Mum comes home, yawning, during these musings. “Stars are lovely.”

“Very nice indeed,” Damon says, aiming a wee smirk at me.

I roll my eyes. Unbelievable.

Within minutes, Mum’s snore is rattling through the door. I finish my apron and Damon steals it from me to inspect it. “Did you know you’ve been smiling since I sat on the couch?”

“Rubbish.” I grab more fabric and lay it on the floor. But yeah—mortifyingly, my lips are still upturned.

Damon peers over the apron. “You’re procrastinating.”

“What? Never! I want us dressed in matching aprons for our date tomorrow—what are you doing?”

Damon tosses the apron on the couch and takes me by the arms, tugging me to my feet. “Lovely as you are, smiling on your knees,” he says, and fireman’s me over his shoulder with a smack to my arse, “it’s time to change position.”

“Damon.”

“Wriggle all you want, Leon.” He plunks me onto his bed and crawls over me with a wicked gleam in his eye. “That’s exactly the point.”

He presses his weight on me and I gasp. “You’re not satisfied?” I’ve been on an agonising precipice since the tea rooms, and no amount of procrasti—sewing has calmed me down.

“No.” Hot, damp breath spools around my ear. “I like to give as good as I get. And Leon? I got very, very good.”

I shiver. Right. I suppose Damon has a certain reputation to uphold. Or rather, re-establish.

He rolls his hips over my stiff prick.

Couldn’t hurt to indulge him! “It’ll be awkward after,” I warn, breathless. “You can’t kick me out of be—”

Damon scowls and kisses away the last of my words. His tongue thrusts into my mouth and elicits a rumbling moan. My dick is in heaven under a thin layer of flannel; every outline of Damon’s hard cock bores against mine.

I arch into him instinctively; he hums at my ear and nibbles a line down my neck that has me bucking. His lips twitch at the base of my throat, and I can imagine their curve: wicked.

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