I push thoughts of my ex out of my mind. I’m single and living alone for the first time in my life. I don’t need to think about that cheating bastard.
Me: Yep. BYOS.
Sawyer: BYOS?
Me: Yeah, bring your own shit.
He sends backa ton of laughing emojis and I smile as I stuff my phone in my pocket. I can’t wait until next weekend. All my friends in one spot, playing games and just being silly. No one to tell me to keep it down or ask when company is leaving.
Sighing, I stretch my arms over my head and do a slow spin to look at my living room. It’s perfect, exactly how I imagined it would look. The black couch set doesn’t even look out of place beside my yellow recliner. In fact, it complements it really well.
“Shower, then reading,” I murmur to myself. I don’t usually have a bunch of down time to read, but my unpacking didn’t take long today.
Every day after work, I’ve unpacked a few boxes, trying to get everything moved in and settled so I can relax within a week. I beat that by two days.
Now that I’m done and everything is in its rightful place, I can use the few hours before bed to get into this queer romancebook Sawyer’s girlfriend, Katrina, let me borrow. Hot hockey players fucking whenever they’re in the same town? Sign me the fuck up.
As I make my way to my room, I eye the recliner, breathing in that leather and coffee and book scent. My dick throbs, like it has pretty much every day I inhale that spicy fragrance. I’ve had to beat off before bed to get my dick to deflate so I could sleep.
Being a stomach sleeper is the worst.
I want to laze while I read, but I need to shower first. I can never relax if I don’t wash myself before bed.
My shower is long and soothing, the piping hot water rolling over my sore muscles. Being a chef isn’t super physically demanding, not like a construction worker or something like that, but I spend hours on my feet in a hot kitchen, rolling dough, carrying heavy loads, and I do more disinfecting counters than I want to admit. Some days, I come home so footsore I can barely function, but I love my job and wouldn’t have it any other way.
After I wash myself and make up imaginary scenarios in my mind, I shut the water off and step out. My dick is hard as a rock, but I ignore it for now. Jerking off is a bedtime activity.
I wrap a towel around my waist and pad to my bedroom to throw on a pair of pajama pants.
I stop just before I open my dresser drawer.
For the first time, I can walk around with no clothes and lounge around my apartment butt-ass naked. I can even cook naked if I want to.
Okay, no cooking naked. I don’t want to burn my balls off just because I have my own place for the first time.
Well, maybe it would be fine if I wore an apron. It would cover all my important bits.
But I can justbe—in my own space.
Grinning, I whip my towel off and toss it on my bed. I march into the living room and over to my bookshelf, cock and balls swinging. It feels weird, being this exposed to everything, but also oddly freeing. The air kicks on and the soft breeze against my ass makes me giggle. Okay, I’ll be doing this a lot more often.
I grab the hockey book from my shelf and head straight for my recliner. I’m sure the cool leather will feel great against my naked flesh.
Before I sit though, I look at the cushions, biting my lip as I eye the cracks. Will they dig into my skin? Will it hurt?
My thoughts shift to running my finger over the cracks the day I brought the recliner home and, even though theylookedrough, they felt uniform to the leather. It was the oddest thing. Where I expected it to feel uneven and prickly, it just felt…warm and smooth.
Okay, I’m doing this. My bare ass on those cracked, but smooth cushions. It’ll be fine. If it hurts or pinches or something, I’ll get a blanket. But I amnotputting on pants. My half hard cock likes the air rolling over it.
A long sigh leaves my lips as I sink into the recliner. It’s almost like it molds to my body, making itself cozier just for me. The leather is warm, but not overly so. The perfect temperature. And none of the cracks hurt. In fact, if I didn’t know they were there, I’d assume this was a brand-new lounger.
“God, where have you been all my life?” I ask, eyes closed as I wiggle my body to burrow deeper. Almost as if in answer, the scent from the recliner grows stronger, the fragrance nuzzling my skin sensually.
Wait, fragrance can nuzzle skin?
Well, fucking obviously.
Every time I breathe in, the scent sends zings of arousal over me, like a full body caress.
