Sullivans 06 - Let Me Be the One

glad you came by to share this moment with me.”
    How he managed to fight the urge to kiss her, he’d never know. “Me too.” He looked around at the other pieces in the room. “Looks like you’ve been busy this week.”
    She barely glanced at anything. “Dozens of false starts is all they are. They can all go in the trash now.”
    “You’d better be kidding.” He ran his hand down her back to take her hand, then pulled her over to a shelf with blue sculptures of waves that were so fine and translucent they almost looked like glass. “These are amazing. How can you even make the clay do that?”
    “You know how. You saw me throw plenty of clay against the garage walls that year trying to get it to do what I wanted it to do. I don’t throw nearly as much at walls anymore, thankfully.”
    “Remember that night you tried to teach me to make a bowl?”
    Vicki’s laughter was the best sound in the world. “I’m afraid that even five-year-olds put your pottery-making skills to shame.”
    He’d been a horny fifteen-year-old boy so distracted by her nearness, her scent, her hands over his as she tried to guide him with the clay that, for the first time in his life, he’d been all thumbs. Plus, he hadn’t liked not being good at something right off the bat. It had been easier to give up early than to consider the possibility of failing later.
    “I need to take a little break to clear my head and hands before I get working again.” She lifted his hand, then picked up the other one and studied them. Her eyes were sparkling as she said, “What do you say we give these legendary hands of yours another try?”
    He had to work like hell to keep her from seeing just how much the idea of her trying anything at all with his “legendary hands” got him going. “I’m all yours.”
    At his response, her eyes met his again and he thought he heard her suck in a quick breath before she shook her head. “Go sit. I just need to dig out my wheel and some fresh clay. Put this on.” She handed him a thick plastic apron. “We’re going to get you all messy.”
    Holy hell, the way she said messy in that sassy way had him just about bursting behind his zipper. What he wouldn’t give to get messy with her.
    Glad for the thick brown plastic to cover up his hard-on, he sat back and enjoyed watching Vicki gather everything and set it up in front of him. She’d always licked at the corner where her upper and lower lips came together when she was concentrating, and watching her little pink tongue wet her gorgeous mouth every few seconds had him losing control of himself for a split second and groaning out loud.
    “Is everything okay?”
    Just taking in her beautifully flushed skin, her big green eyes, the hair falling out of her ponytail and brushing over her shoulders, had him this close to saying, “No,” grabbing her by her ponytail and dragging her mouth to his.
    Instead, he forced “Never better” from his lips.
    “Okay, we’re ready.” She pulled over another stool beside him and sat close enough that her thigh pressed against his.
    “Aren’t you going to get dirty?”
    She held out her arms. “Haven’t you noticed? I already am.”
    He finally saw that she had clay splattered all over her, most of it on her perfect breasts. The air coming in through the window was cool enough to have them pebbling slightly beneath her bra.
    Which one had she put on today? Was it the black one with the small blue bow in the center or the—
    His hard-on spiked again beneath his jeans as he quickly fell deeper down the slippery slope that was Vicki.
    How could he have thought playing around with her like this was a good idea? But it was too late to get out of it now, even if he could have dragged himself away from her.
    “Okay, first we need to center the clay. This is really important, so you’re on balance and not fighting with it the whole time. Are you comfortable?”
    No. He’d need a freezing cold shower—or a few hours in bed with her—before he could even come close to getting comfortable.
    When he nodded, she said, “Press your forearms against your thighs like this,” and unintentionally gave him a killer view down her tank top.
    Pink lace. That was the bra she’d put on this morning. Worse still, it was cut low enough for her full breasts to almost spill out the top.
    Just barely, he managed to do as she asked, repeating, “Forearms to thighs,” like an idiot.
    She handed him a wet gray blob. “Okay,