Because I won’t be there to turn you on
But it’ll be a different story when you get home. That’s when you’ll hear from me. That’s when you’re going to get rock hard. And you’ll probably try to ignore it but you won’t be able to. Sooner or later you won’t be able to help yourself from fucking your hand. And when you come all over yourself like a dirty fucking slut you’ll remember I’m the one who did that to you.
I decide to leave it at that. I very much doubt I’ll hear back from him this morning; if he gets hard from reading that he’ll probably just convince himself it’s morning wood.
I set my phone on the counter and then tug the fridge open to retrieve the milk for my protein shake. I’m stuffing chunks of banana into the blender when I hear a text alert, prompting my brows to shoot up in surprise.
My mouth curves up in satisfaction as I reach for my phone, a thrill of anticipation shooting through me.
But it only takes one glance at the screen for my good mood to plummet, the satisfaction and anticipation quickly morphing into irritation, followed by seething anger as more texts come through.
Cody Reynolds
Are you ever going to call me back? It’s been two weeks—we need to talk about this
I miss you so much, Jazz. You’re one of my best friends, I don’t want to lose you
For what it’s worth, there’s nothing you could do that would make me not want you in my life. I was fucking gutted when you told me you’d been cheating on me. It still hurts if I’m being honest, but I know you didn’t set out to hurt me. We should have communicated better and got on the same page about the exclusivity thing. So even though it still stings I’m not mad anymore. I forgive you
I somehow manage to restrain myself from throwing my phone across the room—no point wrecking a perfectly good phone on Cody’s account. Instead, I open the settings options in my phone and switch off text preview, vowing to delete anyfuture texts from Cody without reading them, the same way I’ve been deleting his voicemails without listening.
Needing a more pleasant diversion, I open the thread with Damon again and tap out another text.
Me
I know what you’re thinking and it’s not morning wood. When was the last time you were this turned on with morning wood?
Don’t try to deny it. The thought of coming all over yourself and getting your sheets all messy has you so fucking horny you can barely breathe. And the effort not to touch your dick right now is killing you
I don’t think a cold shower will cut it this time dirty boy. Give that giant dick the attention it deserves and tonight you can tell me all about it…
15
When I wakeup on Saturday morning to a slew of text message taunts from Jazz that have my half-hard cock thickening completely in mere moments, my instinct is, of course, to fight the burning arousal with every ounce of willpower I possess, just like I did last night. I have no idea how he knows I needed a cold shower after our text exchange but, seriously, I don’t think anything should surprise me with this guy anymore.
Fuck. I need to get up and get in the shower again. Once I start moving around and focusing on other stuff this insanity that has suddenly sunk its claws into me will fade and I’ll feel normal again.
Except…I can’t move. The fact that he knewexactlyhow I’d feel when I read those texts and was brazen enough to call me out on it has ramped up the arousal to a level of crippling intensity and I can barely think, or breathe; and getting my limbs functioning well enough to move from the bed is out of the question.
I groan and toss my head back into my pillow, desperately trying to ignore my painfully throbbing cock.
I don’t understand it. I don’t fucking understand any of this. It’s like Jazz is inside my head, tugging at threads I didn’t even know were there and weaving them into a pattern that only he can see. And he’s been in there far longer than just the last couple days; this has been going on since the moment we met three weeks ago.
The solution is obvious—I need to get him the fuck out of my head.
With that resolve in mind, I shove the arousal away and force my body to move from the bed. A cold shower and a run on the High Line. That’ll be a start…
And when I hear from Jazz tonight…I’ll just ignore it. I won’t even see his texts because I’ll turn off my phone—what I can’t see can’t affect me, right?
But then my brain kicks in and I realize what a ridiculous idea that is. I can’t be unreachable—what if one of the kids needs me? True, they don’t call that often now they’re off at college, but you can never be too careful. And besides, going to such extreme lengths to avoid a simple text would prove Jazz right. And Jazz is not right.
If he texts later on, I’ll be able to just ignore it because I’m a strong-willed guy and I don’twantto hear from him. It’ll be easy.
Saturday eveningsat Whiskey Tango are always a lot busier than other nights, and without Gia there we were run off our feet for most of the night, so I barely had a chance to thinkabout anything, least of all the cocky, guitar-playing asshole who seems hell-bent on destroying my sanity.
But I’ll admit it did feel a little…strange not to be on my guard for one of his inappropriate songs, or feel his eyes follow me around the bar, or sense his presence hovering nearby, or put up with him ogling my ass and brazenly flirting while I made his whiskey sour. But strange in a good way. Obviously.
It’s after three am by the time I get home, so all I want to do is crash and sleep until well into the afternoon ahead of another closing shift tomorrow. But I haven’t eaten since I grabbed a couple chicken fingers from the kitchen at about seven, so I make a quick detour to the main kitchen and go rummaging through the fridge.
