The bed was also empty.
And my forehead itched.
I reached up to scratch it and knocked something off, watching the piece of paper flutter to the bed.
Making pancakes @ 10:30am. Didn’t want to wake you. You look great naked in the morning.
I fished my phone out of my pocket to discover that it’d just gone ten-fifteen.
My stomach growled at the thought of pancakes. Would Wes mind if I borrowed his shower? Surely not, it was only a shower.
And technically, this was my dad’s guesthouse. Even if Wes seemed to live here full-time.
I stumbled to the bathroom and turned the shower on, groaning involuntarily as the water pressure did its best to wake me up.
Dear god I was sore.
I’d used a lot of muscles last night that I hadn’t had to in a while. My throat felt like there was a stone in it.
… my cock was hard.
“Haven’t you had enough?” I asked it, looking down as it bobbed hopefully in front of me.
I didn’t have time. Pancakes were more important than jerking off.
Even if the shower gel I was using smelled of Wes. That smell brought thefeelof him back, like he could’ve been under my hands right now, writhing and whimpering and gasping as I touched and kissed and licked and ground into him.
This line of thought wasn’t helping at all.
Think of the pancakes, Hayden.
Unfortunately, pancakes werealsoa sexy thought. Wes making pancakes was a sexy thought.
Anything Wes-adjacent was, well…
“Fine,” I said, bracing myself against the cool, smooth tiles. They warmed under my hand, and as I closed my eyes they transformed into Wes’s skin in my mind, the curve of his shoulder, the soft inside of his thigh, the perfect rise of his ass.
The shower gel was a thin imitation of Wes’s real scent, complex and masculine, but it was still fresh enough in my memory that my brain filled in the blanks for me, letting me breathe him in as though he was right there, naked, laughing again, moaning under my touch.
With all that and the delicious post-sex ache in my muscles, it didn’t take me long to finish, spilling over my own hand with a broken groan.
I shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and then wandered back to the bedroom to face my second problem—clothes.
As in, the clothes I’d left in a rumpled heap on the floor yesterday.
I picked up my underwear, physically recoiled at the thought of putting them on, and let them fall to the floor again. Aaron had always said I was a little…prissy… about things like that, but that was one thing I wasn’t about to change out of spite.
I only had to get as far as my own bedroom. Hmm.
There was a single chest of drawers in the room, and if I had to guess…
T-shirts in the top drawer, sweaters in the second, then underwear, then socks. That was howminewere organized, and it was the only logical way, as far as I was concerned.
I hesitated, then picked my way over to it, the feeling that I shouldn’t have been going through Wes’s drawers welling up in the pit of my stomach. He’d trusted me alone in his house, which probably meant he’d assumed I wouldn’t snoop.
Or alternatively, that there was nothing here he minded me seeing. Yeah. That made more sense.
At least, that was the best way of justifying this to myself.
