My cock tents my sweats a heartbeat later.
Fucking hell.
And when my gaze travels to the rise and dip of her ass, hips, and waist, I roll over, pressing my back to hers.
This was not how this was supposed to go.
It really wasn’t.
Part of me suspects Rawlins set this up. It’s so his thing. Meddling matchmaker. Always thinking he knows better.
This kind of thing could get London fired. Ruin my chances of promotion. Or have more dire consequences.
And still, the pounding in my head has sunk to my cock, the ache with every throb as I breathe her scent in now tangled through my sheets driving me past insanity.
I roll off the bed and make a beeline for the shower. Petal looks up but doesn’t move. Shutting the door behind me, I turn on the water and strip out of my clothes.
A wash of dizziness sees me slap a palm to the tiles as I step into the water. Recovering slightly, my hand drifts to my aching cock.
Every syllable of London’s moan plays on loop in my head.
I tug a hand down my cock, and a pearly drop beads at the tip.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan.
My forehead meets the tile next, my grip tightening as I send my hand over my cock in a punishing grip.
The woman lying in my bed wakes, wandering in to my shower, dropping to her knees. Her mouth swallowing my cock whole. I explode all over the damn tiles. The mirage of London on her knees fades with every squirt of hot ropey cum that splatters over my shower space.
I am so damn screwed.
Dark curls drape over my chest as London leans over, plucking up Petal from the bed. After my little early morning rendezvous with the shower, it took me hours to fall back asleep. Mainly because of the temptation spread starfish over the center of my bed.
I tried the sofa, but when my back started aching fifteen minutes later, I found myself back on the bed.
“You want me to make you some breakfast?” London asks, now standing by the bed, Petal in her arms.
“No, you don’t have to do that,” I rasp.
Her nipples strain against the T-shirt she’s wearing. The room temperature after I adjusted it to a warmer setting and turned it back on is still cold enough, apparently.
My mouth dries out with the need to close my lips over those buds I just know would be fucking incredible. My sweats rise with the swell of my cock. Again.
Fuck.
“Nah, I’m good.” I roll over, hoping she doesn’t notice the morning wood I can’t help with her in my room.
I’m seven-fuckin-teen again.
Christ.
I’m losing my damn mind. I watch her hips sway as she cuddles Petal and makes her way to the kitchenette. In my tiny-ass apartment. With a groan, I pluck up a pillow and slap it over my face.
Could this get any worse?
“You’re out of coffee, Miles. I’ll duck out and grab some, okay?”
My first thought is her bra-less, ample breasts.
