A/N: This is not my best work, but I had to make myself write something. It's been a while, and I'm trying to break out of my writer's block.
Translation: please take the following with a grain of salt, lol
Oh, even though this is a sequel, I don't think you have to read "Problem Solved" to follow it.
Derek scoffed as Casey's words from earlier that week echoed in his head for what had to of been the hundredth time that hour.
Whose problem was solved? Certainly not Derek's. If anything, the moment she'd breathed those two words into his ear his problem had just been beginning.
It had been one thing when he used to fantasize about what it'd be like to sleep with Casey. Back then he could tell himself that it probably wouldn't be anything special. Casey couldn't possibly have anything on Tasha and her very enticing piercing. And Roxy? Forget about it. Roxy was a gymnast; Casey couldn't even compete with that.
Never had he been so utterly and completely wrong.
Casey may not have had any hidden piercings, but as she'd wrapped her naked body around his own, Derek had gotten an eyeful of her many other enticing attributes. And gymnasts? Well, as it turns out, they're overrated. He'd take a dancer over a gymnast any day. Dancers have rhythm—they know how to keep up and how to umm… get down.
Speaking of getting down - that was Derek's problem. Well, not "getting down"—he'd never had a problem getting down. His problem was that he wasn't getting down with Casey.
For him, all their encounter had done was whet his appetite. And, he'd kind of assumed that she would feel the same. After all, from what he'd read on the wall of the girl's restroom that time Shanna Stevens had given him an early birthday present, "Having sex with Derek Venturi was like eating a Lay's potato chip - you couldn't have him just once." After Casey had slipped back into her sheer little robe and sauntered out of his room that day, he had fully expected her to seek out his help again.
But it had been five days—five very blue days for Derek—since she'd fairly glided out of his room. And all he could figure was that maybe she really had solved her problem the other day, because she sure hadn't let on to him that she needed any more help. There'd been no blushes, no heated looks, no winks; Casey hadn't done anything that any of his other girls had done to signal that they were ready for a second round. In fact, Casey's behavior since their… joining had been the epitome of normal. She studied; she cleaned; she complained; she danced.
Oh, God, did she dance. And, really, it wasn't so much the dancing; it was the stretching before the dancing. Everywhere he looked the girl was stretching. In her room, with the door standing wide open; in the front room; even in the kitchen, for God sakes. "I can multitask," is what she'd told him when he'd deigned to ask her why the hell she felt it necessary to read with one leg thrown over her head.
Actually, that's when—that's the exact moment when he'd decided that she wasn't being normal; she was fucking with him. She had to be. Either that or his horniness was getting the best of him.
Problem solved? Yeah, right. It'd been solved for about all of one hour before it was back with a vengeance. And as each very long and very lonely day passed, Casey's horniness started to get the best of her. It was making her do stupid things.
'I can multitask.'
Just thinking about having said that made her grimace. She was still surprised that Derek hadn't presented her with an award for the "Worst Performance in a Drama" (or comedy) the moment those words had tumbled from her lips. He had sure looked like he wanted to.
She'd had to say something though; and it wasn't like there were dozens of believable ways for a person to explain why they were reading and stretching in the middle of the kitchen floor. So, Casey had said the first thing that popped into her mind. And, as soon as she had, she'd been sure that her cover was blown—Derek had to know that she was fucking with him.
And, though she would rather have sounded a tad less lame when she tipped him off, she was glad he knew—he couldn't do anything about it if he didn't know.
See, she wasn't messing with him just for the hell of it; she just wanted him to do make some kind of move… besides squirming. That's all he'd been doing lately—squirming. And she was tired of watching him squirm every time he was around her. He wasn't supposed to be squirming. Since when did Derek Venturi squirm? Okay, so yeah, she had expected there to be some squirming. But it was supposed to be squirming followed by a more… productive action—a productive action that would benefit them both.
Because as long as he squirmed, she'd be squirming too; just like she'd been squirming every night since the day she'd practically jumped him. More jumping and less squirming - that's what Casey wanted.
She just didn't want to have to be the one to initiate it. Only one potentially embarrassing proposition per guy - that was her rule. The ball was literally in his court. Which was why she was trying her damndest to temp him—she just wanted him to take a shot.
"One, two, three…"
Derek had been relatively sure before, but at that moment he was completely positive—she was definitely fucking with him.
"One, two, three. One, two, three," Casey kept repeating over and over in a singsong voice.
Stretching was one thing. But stretching in leggings? That had to be illegal. And where was the tunic? There was supposed to be a tunic, right? Not a bra thingy. Derek hadn't walked into his living room; he'd walked back in time… and onto the set of a MC Hammer video.
Ever since the idea that she was fucking with him had popped into his head, Derek had vowed to stay away. He'd vowed not to give in. She obviously still… had problems or she wouldn't have been employing her "stretching seduction" tactic. So it was only a matter of time; she would come to him for help once again. And, once again, he'd so graciously render his services. Then both their problems would be solved.
But this—bra/leggings/"Can't Touch This" thing—was too much.
It was obvious.
It was unfair.
It was enough to spring him into action.
His resolve to stay away be damned, it was about to be Hammer Time.
Derek spared a moment to give a silent thanks to God for the fact that the house was empty save him and Casey. But it was a quick moment.
Then he was in front of Casey. And he was tossing her noticeably uncomplaining self over his shoulder. And he was taking the steps two and three at a time. And then he was throwing her unceremoniously onto his unmade bed.
They stayed that way for a minute—Derek standing and staring down at Casey while her wide blue eyes gazed right back up at him from her spot on his bed.
"Is this what you want?" he asked, entirely out of formality, because he was pretty damn sure that he hadn't read the signs wrong.
Three letters, that's all it took to get Derek on top of her. And Casey could only hope that it wouldn't take too much more to get him inside of her too.
Apparently they were both on the same page as far as preliminaries went, because there weren't any. He didn't even kiss her.
It all happened in a blur. A very nice, very good blur, but a blur nonetheless. One minute he was asking her questions that, she felt, had very obvious answers, and the next minute he was pumping in and out of her. Their bodies moving in a perfect rhythm; one releasing tiny gasps and moans, the other grunts, as they pushed each other towards complete ecstasy.
And once they'd made it—once they'd seen the mountaintop—all they could do was lay there. Both spent. Both oddly happy. But both with the awkward feeling of "what the hell do we do now?" radiating from their minds.
There'd be no self-satisfied utterance of "problem solved" coming from Casey's lips this time.
And Derek wasn't sure if he had it in him to attempt to put up another "stay away from Casey" front.
Because deep down, and really, not as deep down as either of them would've liked, they both had the feeling that they'd be right back there. On Derek's bed; their limbs tangled together; both panting; both practically glowing in the aftermath of what really should've only been a meaningless--"get me off, so I can stop walking around in a moody, tingling, rut all the time and get on with my life"--fuck.
Casey suspected, and Derek knew from experience - meaningless fucks didn't feel that good.
And that was a problem. A very big problem. A problem that neither of them was sure how to solve.
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