The prospect holds out a black bag. “For you.”
I pop a brow. “What is this?”
The prospect shrugs. “Don’t know. Tacoma just said bring it over here.”
I take the bag with a nod. “Thanks.”
Without another word, I close the door and head back into the apartment.
“Do you guys ever say goodbye?” June asks, amusement in her voice. “Or is being rude to the baby bikers part of the whole hazing process?”
A chuckle escapes me. “Baby bikers?”
She shrugs.
That’s actually pretty fucking accurate.
I unzip the bag and peer inside. Clean clothes, a toothbrush, and a box of condoms. “Jesus.”
“What is it?” June stands, wiping her hands on the pockets of her denim cutoffs. The movement draws my eyes to her long, tanned legs.
Jesus Christ.
“Uh… Nothin’. Prez just sent over some stuff.”And some condoms if you’re in the mood.I don’t say that last part, though. Instead, I hitch the bag onto my shoulder and nod to the bathroom door. “Mind if I use your shower?”
Her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. Damn, she blushes a lot. It’s kind of hot.
“Yeah, sure. Mi casa es su casa and all that.” She points over her shoulder at the door behind her. “Bathroom’s through there. Towels are under the sink.”
I nod my thanks and head for the bathroom. It’s exactly what you expect in these tiny loft apartments—tiny, white, and since the girl who lives here thinks she’s a fairy princess, it’s covered in pink girly shit. Body wash, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, sprays, creams. The shower has not one, but three of those poofy sponge things in different colors hanging from a hook.
I swat one with my hand. “What the fuck is one person supposed to do with three of these things?”
Women.
Shaking my head, I strip off my clothes, not even bothering to wait for the water to heat up before stepping under the spray. The shock of cold water feels good, helping clear my head.
I open the first bottle of body wash and inhale the scent. Strawberries. Opening another bottle, I breathe in vanilla and coconut, and my cock twitches. It smells just like her. Squirting some in my hands, I start to lather up.
The image of June in her pink tank top, nipples poking against the fabric, coffee dripping down her chest, between her tits—I look down at my cock. He’s standing at attention and ready to go.
I wrap my hand around the velvety member and stroke. I know it’s fucked up. I shouldn’t be beating my meat to thoughts of my sister’s best friend. For fucks sake, I’m ten years older than her.
But I can’t stop.
Closing my eyes, I imagine her on her knees in front of me, those big blue eyes looking up, those full lips stretched around my cock. I pump faster, gritting my teeth to stay quiet. I picture her tits bouncing as I fuck her, her head thrown back, that long blonde hair flowing down her back.
“Fuck.” With a grunt, I come harder than I have in years, shooting thick ropes all over the shower wall. The water washes it away, but the relief is short-lived.
What the fuck am I doing? Not even two hours ago, I was fucking Amy.
I scrub a hand over my face, suddenly disgusted with myself. This girl has had her place broken into, her shit destroyed, and she’s got some psycho stalking her. Yet here I am, jacking off to thoughts of her in the shower.
I quickly finish washing up and shut off the water. Grabbing a fluffy pink towel from under the sink, I dry off and pull on the clean pair of jeans.
When I step out of the bathroom, June’s standing at the kitchen counter, staring at the mug in her hands.
“Everything okay?”
