But he hasn’t brought anyone home either, and I haven’t noticed anyone else living there. So, that’s a plus.
I zero in on his window. At least he has the lights on today with the blinds up. Right after I take a seat on the parapet, Beckett comes into view, a towel wrapped around his waist. Stray droplets glisten on his skin, tracing tantalizing paths down the planes of his chest and abs. His thick, dark brown hair is tousled and damp.
He walks over to the dresser, his back to the window, and I lean forward, trying to get a better look. The broad expanse of his shoulders tapers to a trim waist, all lean muscle and taut skin. But there, peeking out from under the towel near his hip . . .
A scar.
Jagged and silvery, standing out starkly against his tanned skin. It appears old, long-healed, but no less startling.
A sports injury, maybe? But before I can ponder further, Beckett turns. And holy hell . . .
I haven’t seen him naked yet. Well, not in real life, just my fantasies. But even my wild imagination didn't do justice to the sheer magnitude of what he's packing.
The towel does absolutely nothing to hide the massive erection jutting out from his hips, obscenely tenting the fabric. I catch myself licking my lips, transfixed by the thought of that beast splitting me open, ruining me for anyone else.
He moves to the bed, and I swallow hard as he undoes the towel, letting it drop to the floor, revealing his gloriously naked body. And when I say glorious, I mean it. The man is a goddamn Adonis, all hard planes and rippling muscles.
But instead of putting on his boxer briefs, he just tosses them aside and sits on the edge of the mattress, his dick standing at attention. For a moment, he just stares at it, like he's fighting some internal battle. His hands clench into fists, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he'll do.
My jaw drops and I lean forward a bit too much, catching myself before I fall right off the edge when he starts to stroke himself, just lazy strokes up and down his shaft.
And when he starts to tease the head, rubbing his thumb over the slit, I'm done for. He's taking his time, savoring every moment, and I can't look away. It's like watching a work of art unfold before my very eyes.
Soon enough, he's picking up the pace, fist flying over his shaft. He leans back, bracing himself with one hand on the bed, hips lifting to meet his strokes. His head tips back, exposing the long column of his throat.
God, what I wouldn't give to be in that room with him. To be on my knees, choking on that gorgeous dick. I'd let him do anything he wanted to me, let him use me however he saw fit.
I grab my own length that's already punching at my zipper, wanting to break free. I'm hard as a fucking rock, leaking in my boxers like a goddamn teenager.
Sweat glistens on his skin, a flush spreading down his chest, and then his back arches off the bed as he comes, painting his stomach and chest with ropes of white.
My desperate moan cuts through the night as I come in my jeans. But I can't even be embarrassed about it. Not when Beckett suddenly sits up, grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand, his face twisting into pure rage.
He doesn't just toss the phone aside. He flings it across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the floor as he stands up, pacing the room like a caged animal before disappearing from view.
On the floor, the device continues to light up like a damn Christmas tree.
Who the fuck is blowing up his phone like that? But whoever they are, they better back the fuck off.
Because Beckett Harper is mine.
Even if he still doesn’t know it . . . yet.
Chapter 5
Beckett
Two days. It's been two goddamn days since that night, and I still can’t get it out of my head.
I shouldn't have let my mind wander to Novotny while I jacked off. He's my player, for Christ's sake.
Off limits.
I shake my head, disgusted. I'm supposed to be the responsible one here. The adult. I can't have these kinds of thoughts about him. Even if he does go out of his way to get my attention as if he craves it.
And yeah, no matter how much I try to keep my distance, there’s no denying he commands attention when he’s on the ice because he’s good.
Really good.
