His Girlfriend Doesn’t Know He Keeps Staring at My Ass
I couldn’t stop smiling.
The second Liam’s door slammed, I flopped back onto the couch, heart hammering in my chest.
"No homo," he said. Right. Sure.
I stretched out lazily, letting my shorts ride even higher up my thighs. If he thought that was bad, he hadn’t seen anything yet. I was just getting started.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. I thought about texting him something dumb like "You coming back out here, princess?" just to get under his skin, but decided against it. Let him stew a little. Let that comment marinate in his brain until he couldn’t sit still.
And it worked.
Twenty minutes later, I heard his door creak open.
I stayed perfectly still, pretending not to notice as he padded into the kitchen again. He was trying to act casual, but I caught the way he peeked over—real quick—just to check if I was still on the couch.
I was. And I looked even sluttier now, just for him.
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water, then leaned back against the counter like he wasn’t watching me over the rim. But I could feel it. The weight of his stare, dragging up and down my body, trying not to linger too long on my legs. On my ass.
"Hey, Liam," I called out sweetly.
He froze, glass halfway to his mouth. "Yeah?"
I stretched again, arching my back like a damn cat, feeling my shorts cling to me even tighter. "Can you help me with something?"
He hesitated, glass still in his hand. "Depends what it is."
I pouted. "I can’t reach the top shelf."
He knew I was full of shit. We both did. But he set his glass down anyway and wandered over, shoulders tense, like he already regretted it.
When he got close, I stood up, letting my bare thigh brush his jeans on purpose. I pointed up toward the kitchen shelves. "That one."
He reached up without saying a word, muscles flexing under his T-shirt, arms stretching, veins popping. I bit my lip openly, not even pretending to hide it anymore.
When he grabbed the bag of chips I definitely didn’t need, I leaned in just a little closer, brushing his hand when I took it from him.
"Thanks," I said, letting my fingers linger.
He jerked his hand back like it burned.
"You’re acting weird," he muttered, stepping back.
I tossed the chips onto the counter and gave him a look. "I’m just being me."
He stared at me for a second too long. His gaze felt heavier this time, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to shove me or fuck me.
"You’re such a little shit," he said finally, but there was no heat to it. Only frustration. And maybe a little something else.
"Maybe." I shrugged, closing the distance between us just a little. "But you like it."
He shook his head, biting back a smile. That stupid, lazy, crooked grin that always gave him away. My stomach flipped hard.
"You really think your ass is better than Paige’s?" he blurted out.
I stepped closer, close enough that if he breathed too deep, we’d touch. "You tell me."
His eyes dropped again. Slow. Hungry. He didn’t even pretend this time.
Three full seconds before he snapped his gaze back up, cheeks pink.
"Fuck off," he muttered, grabbing his water like it could save him.
"You keep staring, Liam," I teased, voice low.
"It’s hard not to when you’re parading around like—" he waved a hand at me, flustered, "—that."
I smirked, feeling reckless. "You want me to cover up?"
He stared at me. Said nothing.
I tilted my head. "Even if it drives you crazy?"
For a second, I thought he might crack. Might actually admit it. But instead, he just pushed past me with a grunt, heading back toward the living room like he could outrun the tension.
I followed.
Because, fuck it, I wasn’t done.
He dropped onto the couch, spreading out like he owned the place, giving me this annoyed look that didn’t fool either of us.
"You seriously gonna stand there in those shorts all night?" he said.
"Depends." I grinned. "You seriously gonna keep checking me out all night?"
He grabbed a pillow and launched it at me.
I ducked, laughing, catching it against my chest. But I caught it—the tiny smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Yeah. I had him.
Bad.
I dropped the pillow, still smiling, and stepped right in front of him.
Close enough that he had no choice but to look up at me.
"You know..." I said, voice dropping, teasing. "You’re allowed to touch it if you’re that curious."
He stared at me. Jaw tight. Hands clenching into fists on his thighs.
And for a second—
Just a second—
I thought he was actually going to do it.
Author Note:
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