God, I want her.
I want her spread out for me, thighs locked around my waist, nails carving my shoulders. I want her begging for me, crying my name even louder than she did through the wall last week. I wanther coming on my cock then falling asleep in my arms where I can always watch over her.
Every sound she made just now is burned into me. That little yelp. The stammered apology. The click of the door slamming shut when she darted back inside.
I jerk faster, heat coiling deep and low in my spine. I don’t want to come so fast, but I want to come so much.
My jaw locks and my balls pull tight, the orgasm knocking the breath out of my chest. My hips keep pumping, fucking the air. I groan through my teeth, silver ribbons coating my fist.
Jesus, what is that girl doing to me?
Since when do I jerk off like a horny teenage boy after a girl way out of his league accidentally catches his eye? Since when does it take me a mere thirty seconds to blow my load?
I push off the wall, cupping my slick fist with the other hand to reduce the splash marks on the carpet. My cock’s still out of my pants, bobbing happily as I cross the room.
In a dreamlike state, I strip and hop straight under a stream of hot water.
“Fuck,” I snap, watching cum turn to sticky jelly on my skin.
I’m amanfor God’s sake. I know how cum reacts with hot water, and yet here I am, scraping this gooey, gluey bullshit off my fist and dick like I’ve never done this before.
Once I’m certain there’s no residue left, I finish showering and head to my room, pulling my favorite combo from the closet. Black slacks, matching tailored jacket, and a white Oxford shirt. Two buttons undone, always.
Carter never wears a jacket, and I never wear a tie.
Gold cufflinks, my favorite watch, and a selection of signet rings. Not bad for a guy with cum under his fingernails.
Leilani’s in the living room, curled on the couch, hair damp, legs tucked under her butt.
She peers at me over the rim of a steaming cup. Her cheeks pink up, but she doesn’t mention what happened and I don’t either. I can’t risk blurting out that one glimpse at her naked body had me drafting a marriage proposal.
She scrutinizes me from the tip of my head down to my feet and back, two lines wrinkling her forehead.
“You’re... dressed up.” She tugs at the sleeve of—
“Is that myhoodie?”
“It was.” She smiles but it’s weak and fades fast. “You look nice.” Her gaze drops to my watch. “Where are you going?”
“Scarlett.”
“Ah, okay. Have fun.” She looks like she’s about to add something, but changes her mind, lifting the cup to her lips.
I hate leaving her alone. I should sit across from her, soaking in this domesticity because it already feels like a life I’d kill for.
“I won’t be long.”
She gives me another flat smile. “And I’ll be here.”
***
Carter, Ryder, and Broadway would all point their finger my way when asked who the crazy one is.
And they wouldn’t be wrong.
I do my best to bottle my chaos all year long, keeping it on a short leash, acting like a responsible adult.
Well, Itry.
