“On that note, I need a minute to clean up.”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans, one hand draped lazily over the back of the couch. She’s watching me like a cat who’s cornered a mouse, completely unbothered.
“Don’t take too long. I might miss you.” She pauses to tap her chin. “Might.”
“Seriously,” I call over my shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”
“You like it,” she replies, her voice singsongy and full of amusement.
In the bathroom, I shut the door and let out a long breath. Turning to the mirror, I catch sight of my reflection—flushed, disheveled, and still way too keyed up for my own good.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself, running a hand through my hair.
I splash water on my face, the coolness shocking me out of the lustful haze she’s left me in. Glancing at my reflection again, I shake my head.
Red cheeks. Messy hair. Dilated pupils.
“She’s going to be the death of me,” I mumble to no one. “And quit acting like you’ve never felt a woman’s tits before.”
So embarrassing.
If I come in my pants from five minutes of dry humping, how long would I last inside her?
Don’t even want to think about it ...
I would never hear the end of it.
I pull down my pajama bottoms and stare inside. Push them all the way down my hips, the sticky mess gobbed to my underwear and leg as I yank them off. Ball them up and toss them to the corner of the bathroom.
The thought of leaving them there crosses my mind; I groan and pick them up, throw them into the basket instead. No point in risking a follow-up roasting session if she finds them later.
In the hamper they go, banished to the depths of laundry purgatory ... take a washcloth and wipe up the residue stuck to my inner thighs.
I need clean bottoms.I can’t waltz out there with my nads hanging out. After snatching a pair of pants from the hook behind the door, I pull them on.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door. Lucy is still on the couch, sprawled out with her legs tucked beneath her, scrolling on her phone.Her head lifts when she hears me, and the second her eyes land on my bottoms, her lips curl into a sly grin.
“Huge fan of the gray sweatpants.”
I grunt. “They’re keeping me decent.”
Lucy’s eyes rake over me from head to toe, landing on my middle section. My dick. It’s not a casual once-over either—it’s deliberate and sets every nerve in my body on edge.
I should head to my room, put on some damn pants, and pretend this never happened.
That’s the logical choice.
But logic left my brain the second she gave methat look.
I take a step forward, and her brows lift slightly in curiosity. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m kneeling in front of her on the plush carpet, hands spreading her thighs apart.
She gasps.
Doesn’t pull away, beautiful blue eyes widening as my palms gently slide over her flesh.
“What are you ...?” she whispers as she watches, transfixed, lips parting, her phone slipping from her hand and landing on the couch cushion beside her with a soft thud.
“Your turn,” I say, my voice low, teasing, as I look up at her through my lashes.
