I didn’t think she could be any sexier, but goddammit, she sounds sexy as fuck over the phone. “I can hear you just fine. So tell me, what’s got you up?”
I’m assuming she shrugs based on how the screen shakes a bit. “I don’t know. I had a hard time falling asleep. I didn’t really stay asleep, to be honest. Just kinda been in and out since I texted you that I was gonna crash.”
“My bad for not responding. I walked in the door and face-planted onto my bed.” You fucking liar, my conscience screams as I drop the towel and pull on my briefs, an action she’s attentively following despite only being able to see from the waist up.
“Ah, that explains the awkwardly timed shower. Nice tat, by the way. I didn’t think you had any ink.”
It’s my only one, a tribal piece that spans my left pec, my shoulder, and all of my bicep.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover, bebé. And hey, might as well get it over with so I can talk to you for a bit. I have to be up in a couple hours anyway.”
“You don’t have to. I didn’t mean to wake you, I just—”
“If you didn’t mean to wake me, you wouldn’t have texted me,” I counter, yanking up my basketball shorts and reclaiming the phone off the dresser.
The verity of my reply has Benni biting down her bottom lip as I’m striding to my bed. I’m almost positive I can just make out a slight flush coloring her cheeks. “You got me.”
“Not yet, I don’t, but I want you.” Falling on top of the sheets, I make myself comfortable and tuck an arm behind my head, grinning when she fails to subdue another smile.
“Balls still in your court, you know.”
Yeah, I know.
“I told you—spur of the moment. I’m waiting for the right time.”
“Newsflash, chulo, I’m in prison. There’s never going to be a right time for shit that isn’t supposed to happen in the first place. You’re just gonna have to go for it and pray it works out.”
How it hadn’t dawned on me until right then, I don’t know, but there it is, slapping me in the face, drowning the line in silence. She’s right, unfortunately. There’s never going to be the right time for us while she’s in there—when we’re not supposed to be an us, to begin with.
Once, just once. I just need to taste her one time, and I’ll be good.
Is that train of thought still a heaping load of crap? Definitely.
But I’ll never get to test the theory if I don’t suit up and make a move.
♫ Self Control - Bebe Rexha
When Walker calls me into line later that morning, and I have to slide in between Yanet—she’s fresh meat—and Andrés, I also have to physically force myself from jumping him right then and there, have to pretend he doesn’t exist. Way easier said than done after his unexpected FaceTime a few hours prior. The imagery of him freshly showered and deliciously naked—even him in his bed—is permanently seared into my mind, hanging right there in the limelight of my thoughts.
Now, he’s got me thinking of all the ways I can get him back. I can’t just FaceTime him and take him into the shower with me or cut the lights on a strip down to nothing. I’m gonna have to get creative—something that’s proving to be difficult when my brain is refusing to focus on anything that isn’t his body.
God, that was sweet torture to watch. Sweet, sweet torture. Like...I didn’t even see all of him, and I know he’s not the snack I initially thought he was—he’s the whole damn meal—and I’m officially starving now, mentally salivating for the tiniest taste.
Fuck with him, tease him, drive him crazy.
Ah, there it is—that little voice that fuels bad Benni and all of her genius decisions. Teasing him is all I’ve got really, and considering how we try not to interact while he’s on the clock, he wouldn’t expect it. Perhaps if I tease him enough, he’ll finally snap and take that spur-of-the-moment chance we were talking about.
My lips curl mischievously, eyes cutting down to the hair tie around my wrist.
Classic.
He wants to play? All right, chulo, let’s play.
That hair tie? It magically ends up on the floor. “Shit!” I hiss, bending over to pick it back up.
Andrés didn’t see it coming, doesn’t have time to react or sidestep. He runs right into me, and I mean right into me. I can feel him through my uniform, eyes widening as one of his hands falls instinctively to my hip.
He’s fucking packing, holy shit.
“Fuck, Villanueva, what the hell?” he growls irately.
But his grip says something completely different, the pads of his fingers digging into me as I peek up at him from over my shoulder.
“My bad, Bala.” Licking my lips slowly, I give him a leisurely once-over, imagining this very same position without all these layers of clothes. “I dropped my scrunchie.”
He looks like he both wants to kill me and fuck me senseless, earning him a knowing smirk.
How’s it feel, huh?
Poor guy is trying so hard not to smile, visibly chewing on the inside of his cheeks. Takes him a beat, but eventually, he squeezes me one last time and shakes his head. “Right. Well, next time, maybe keep the scrunchie on your wrist while we’re in line. C’mon, let’s go.”
“What if it’s in my hair,” I toss back, lips thinning in amusement as he gives me the side-eye and motions for me to go first.
“Then keep it in your hair.”
“But what if—”
“Just keep moving.” He sneaks in a soft tap to my ass. “And follow my lead.”
Follow his lead? “What are you—”
“Shhh.” Another tap effectively silences me. “Put on that malita mask of yours and act normal.”
My bad girl mask, he said.
Okay…? I’m curious as all hell but decide to just
