Jensen
See—now I don’t know if you’re joking or not.
Guess you’ll never know.
I shove my phone into my back pocket, step into the foyer of my penthouse, and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
“Hey, babe?” I call out.
Nothing.
She said she’d be here tonight when she asked what time I’d be home. Granted, I told her eight, and it’s only seven-thirty. I busted my ass to get out of the office early so I could make kickoff.
I pop the cap off my beer and take a swig, then make my way down the hall to change out of my suit.
My steps slow as I enter my bedroom.
Is that… my shower?
I round the corner toward my closet, and sure enough, the bathroom door is shut, the light on, water running.
Why is she in my shower?
I start toward the closet when I hear it.
A sharp inhale.
I freeze, my ears perking up… followed closely by my dick.
Jesus Christ. Is she… getting off?
A slow smile pulls at my mouth. She did always love my shower. Multiple sprayers. Detachable. Every setting imaginable.
Another sound floats through the door. Not quite a gasp this time—a moan. Needier.
My cock hardens.
Fuck.
I know I should leave. Give her privacy. It’s fucked up of me to stand here and listen.
I told her I wouldn’t be home. She didn’t know.
But… Christ, it’s hot. The thought of her in there, naked, in my shower—with multiple shower heads.
Walk away.
Just get dressed.
I turn and step into my closet.
I can do this.
I shrug out of my jacket, loosen my tie, start unbuttoning, my thoughts locked on Jordan. On every little sound she’s making.
Problem with the closet—it shares a wall with the bathroom.
I’m down to my boxer briefs when another moan echoes through the air. Louder this time. Longer. Like she’s completely losing it to a goddamn shower head.
