AboutJacob, standing between my legs like that, close enough that I could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that I noticed, and I mean really noticed, the slight stubble lining his jaw, the way it shadows his face and makes him look older and kind of unfairly hot in that scruffy, casual way. It’s not a full beard, but it’s definitely not just lazy morning fuzz either.
And then there’s his Adam’s apple…which, look, I don’t know what it is about it, but it moves when he talks or when he swallows I’m noticing it in high definition, like my brain hit zoom-and-enhance on parts of a man I’ve never thought twice about before.
His shoulders, too, broad and defined under that stupid hoodie that shouldn’t have been attractive. But also… holy shit.
I think about the way he ran his hands along my shoulder. Not just because ithelped the pain, which it did, but because his hands are warm and steady and so fucking strong.
My brain immediately starts to wonder what it would feel like if those masculine hands wrapped themselves around my cock and stroked up and down.
Would he grip me tightly? Would he have calloused fingers? Would he swipe his thumb over my head?
Shaking my head, I try to do the sensible thing. The normal thing. I try to redirect my brain the way I’ve done a hundred times before when it starts wandering into places it shouldn’t.
I think about Sabrina.
About the way she looks when she’s dressed up for a night out, how she knows exactly what clothes hug her body in a way that makes heads turn. I picture her curves, the familiar lines of her waist, the practiced confidence she carries. I picture her tits while I fuck her, how they bounce and her nipples get hard, begging me to suck on them.
These are thoughts I’ve had before. Thoughts that used to come easily. Automatically.
But this time?
Nothing sticks.
Whatever spark is supposed to be there just… fizzles out, like my brain is rejecting the image outright. The warmth drains away, replaced by this strange hollowness that makes my chestfeel tight instead of excited. It’s unsettling, honestly, how fast my mind slips away from her without my permission.
Because the second I stop forcing it, I’m right back where I started.
Back to Jacob.
I wrap my hand around my cock and give in to the thoughts I have been trying so fucking hard to ignore. I let myself picture Jacob as I slide my hand up and down my wet cock.
The sound of my own breathing is loud in the shower, but in my mind, I hear the low, confident rumble of his voice, the one that sends a shiver down my spine every time.
I press my forehead to the cool tile and imagine his hands sliding over my wet skin. The way it would feel to have him pressed up against me, his own hard cock rutting into my thigh.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, hand shuffling faster. “Oh god, Jacob.”
I imagine his eyes looking at me with lust and need. I bet he would sound breathy and needy. I bet he would moan my fucking name when I wrap my lips around his dick and suck him into my throat.
My fist tightens and I gasp as my release paints the walls of the shower.
“Oh…fuck,” I whisper, trying and failing to get my breathing under control.
I’m so fucked.
13
Griffin
“Have you ever been with a dude?”
The words come out of my mouth before I even realize they’re forming as I’m sitting on one of the sagging couches in the living room with Mack with a cold beer in my hand. I’m simultaneously mortified and way too curious about his reaction.
Mack, who is probably the biggest manwhore and self proclaimed fuckboy in the entire universe lifts his bottle to his mouth and gives me this sideways look that is equal parts confusion and mild offense. His brow lifts like he’s trying to understand if I’m joking, serious, or actively deranged.
And honestly? I understand the confusion. We were literally talking about the upcoming game, our power play strategy, and Coach’s latest motivational speech. And then I leap straight into, “Have you ever been with a dude?” Because apparently my conversational filter is broken beyond repair.
“Um… yes,” he says after a beat, setting his beer down and turning toward me with narrowed eyes that are trying very hard to decipher what the hell I’m doing. “Why? Is that a problem?”
