As I’m pondering the existential quandary of expensive towels and blow jobs, Roly walks past the living room and starts down the hallway, then opens the door to my bedroom, peering in. “Is this the master? I seem to remember it being the master, after the whole almond milk incident.”
“Yes, it is the master. Please leave my room alone.”Because I am a weak man, and I like you in my house way too much.
He turns around and grips both sides of the doorframe, looking like a tiny Mexican sex bomb. “I don’t think so.”
I raise my brows in disbelief. “Excuse me? This is my house, and if you want to talk, we’ll do it in the living room.”
He pushes off from the door and saunters—legitsaunters—into my living room and drapes himself into one corner of my leather sectional, arms spread wide, one leg dramatically kicked over the other. Inviting as fuck.
I pick the corner farthest away from him and sit like a convict in a courtroom.
Dammit, this is my house.
I gesture for him to get started.
Licking his upper lip in a way that he thinks is seductive (my crotchal region agrees), he tilts his head, spearing me with a hooded-eyed expression. He appears to be going for alluring, and, again, my dick is unhelpfully cooperative in this regard. After another moment of that, he says, “I think you owe me at least a blow job.”
Straight for the nuts, I see. “I don’t owe you jack shit, especially after you spread E. coli all over my damn house.”
“I took care of all of that. We’re still uneven.”
“What are you, keeping score?”
He uncrosses his legs, revealing the boner straining his jeans. “Talk to me about these unsatisfactory same-sex fumblings of yours.”
My eyes, which had… drifted, snap up to his. “Thefuck? No. I’m not talking about that.”
He fans and closes his fingers. “No matter; I can already guess what happened. I bet they were real nice guys. Real forward-thinking joes. Educated, left-leaning, experimental, kind. Bet you five dollars at least one of them had a man bun, and another five that they made a big deal about how much theyacceptedyou just the way you are.”
“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” I ask, suspicious and decidedly uncomfortable. It was disturbing how accurate his portrayal was. At least ten dollars’ worth.
“Theyacceptedyou, hon. They wereokaywith all of your delectable fur. They couldget aroundthat luscious belly of yours.”
“Still not seeing the problem,” I grit out, migraine dick rising.
“They accepted, but they didn’t appreciate,” he answers with a roll of his hips. “And that’s all the difference in the world.”
You know, up until this very moment, I’d really thought the problems I was having connecting with a guy was just a matter of my lack of experience. I’d chatted it out with Evie and Jean-Pierre, which was a mistake, considering how loose-lipped they’d both been, but they’d both agreed, and I figured I’d try again once I was settled in Austin. Then Roly comes along and fucking blows—quite literally—every sexual encounter I’d ever had out of the fucking water.
I mean, Ashley and I were no slouches in bed, and we’d done plenty of adventurous things… but that one, angry blow job?I saw stars.I’ve jacked off at least three times since then, the memory of Roly’s intense, liquid-chocolate eyes searing me every time. He’d wanted it. He’d wanted it with me, specifically.
It is fucking irritating as hell to have to consider the fact that four of the best orgasms of my life had happened as a result of a bathroom blow job. If Roly was a grain of sand in my head, he’d be a pearl by now.
I mean… had I taken care of him in our bathroom tête-à-tête?No.
Should I feel guilty or obligated because of this?No.
Is my dickin any waycooperating with this line of thought?Also, no.
He leaves me to my thoughts and unpeels himself from my couch, smug as he tosses aside his shirt, unbuttoning his pants as he rounds the corner to my hallway. He’s so sexy and small and compact that I just… no. Not going there.Arrogant, selfish, prick—I stomp off after him to take back my fucking house.
“Get out of my room, Roly. I swear to god I’ll—” My words choke off in a squeak.Holy Jesus, his body is insane. He bounces on the balls of his feet when he sees me and does a little spin. Fucking insane. Sure, I’d gotten to see him up close and personal in my crowded bathroom, but taking in all of him all at once is… fuuuuuck. So fucking ripped, and I have never seen an ass like that. That’s not even taking into account his shiny black hair, beautiful brown skin, model cheekbones, and that aggravating grin of his, all cocky and perfect. All I know is that I am this really stupid mix of horny and angry and stunned.
“What am I supposed to do with all of that?”
Did I really just fucking say that out loud? Roly cocks his eyebrow and slowly peruses my junk. My miserable, trapped, furious, leaking junk, which is looking for a way to reach escape velocity from the confines of my jeans.
Mentally, I add a dunce cap to my head. Hello, my name is Heath Treadway, and I’m the Idiot King of Angry Boners.
