“Stupid.”
The word stings more than it should.
“Super stupid,” I agree, forcing brightness into my voice. “Momentary lapse in judgment. Won’t happen again.”
He’s already backing toward the doorway. Putting distance between us. “I should—I need to—”
“Go,” I tell him. “Yeah. Go.”
He leaves. Just walks out of the kitchen like his pants are on fire.
Or you could stay...
I stand there for a full minute trying to remember how to breathe.
I grab my stuff. Shove everything into my bag with hands that are definitely shaking.
In the hallway, I hear his voice. On the phone.
“Ethan? You still up? Yeah. I need the mat. Now.”
The mat. Jiu-Jitsu. He’s calling my brother to go fight because he’d rather get choked out than finish what we started.
So he’d rather fight than fuck.
Cool.
Totally cool.
Not humiliating at all.
I let myself out the front door. Jag’s waiting by the Range Rover. He takes one look at my face and doesn’t ask questions. Just opens the door and waits for me to climb in.
The ride home is silent. I stare out the window and try not to replay the last ten minutes. Try not to think about how good he tasted. How his hands felt. How my entire body is still buzzing with want.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Actually, maybe this is good. Maybe him stoppingwas exactly what needed to happen. Boundaries exist for a reason. We can’t just keep crossing lines whenever the tension gets too high.
Even if his mouth is magic and I want him so badly it physically hurts.
I make it inside my apartment. Lock the door. Lean against it for a solid thirty seconds.
Then I head straight for the bathroom.
The shower is scalding. Exactly what I need. I stand under the spray and let the heat work into my muscles.
My hand immediately drifts south.
When your coping mechanism is tactical masturbation.
I’m not proud. But I’m also not stopping.
I close my eyes and let the steam wrap around me. I imagine his thumb, rough and possessive, tracing the line of my jaw. His mouth crashing into mine. Not a question, but a demand, stealing my breath. The way he groaned, my body begging for more even as my mind screamedstop.
My fingers slide down, finding my clit already swollen and throbbing, slick with the heat I’ve carried since the kitchen. Sincehim.
“God, he really soaks me,” I whisper to the tiles, my voice lost in the spray. My pussy’s not just wet... it’s an all-outache, a pulsing need that coils tighter with every drop of water tracing my skin.
