"What?" I challenge.
"I like that you have four first aid kits in your house. If my place was bigger I’d have more. And, I guess if I actually cooked I’d have one in the kitchen but for me, the bathroom is enough."
"If you don’t cook for yourself what do you eat?"
"Great question Charming, do you mind if I hobble to your sofa and try to get comfortable before I answer it?"
"Of course, actually, hold that thought. I’m going to shower and then I’ll sit with you."
Each step he takes is stiff and deliberate, like he’s negotiating with each muscle before each move. "Are you going to dump me if we don’t hump tonight?" He grits out.
"No wonder you call me Charming. Hump? Seriously Duncan?"
The corners of his eyes crinkle behind his frames as he rounds the sofa. "My butt hurts too much to think of anything better. Do I get points for rhyming?"
"No. And no, I’m not going to dump you." How could I anyway? We're not dating.
"Okay, you go shower, think of me as you fondle yourself."
"Stop speaking Duncan."
"Got it."
I watch him curl up on the sofa with grunts and groans and once I hear him exhale I turn towards my room.
His scent lingers and the closer I get to the bathroom the more my head clouds. Did he bring his own products? If he used mine there’s no way I’d be able to smell him this strongly would I?
It’s this mouthwatering combination of citrus and vanilla and something smoky. It’s indescribable but it’s all Duncan.
As the water warms I strip down. My cock pulses as muscle memory takes over. Most showers for me lately have involved a hopeful fist around my cock. With Duncan just down the hall, touching myself feels even naughtier.
The spray hits my inked shoulder as I step in and I exhale the tension as I dip my head and face under the spray. A memory of Duncan spraying mewith icy hose water surfaces and yes, my arousal increases, but so does this warmth in my chest.
I wash my hair and think of how good it felt to cook dinner for Duncan last night, to dry the dishes he washed, to brush our teeth next to each other. Even if I had to process him taking his front teeth, teef, out.
We fooled around before going to sleep and the moment I woke up with both of us on our stomachs and my arm slung across his ass I knew I had to make the man pancakes.
I just want to take care of him.
The thought thickens my dick and I give into the need to touch myself. Each stroke builds a sensation of simultaneously floating and falling that I can't seem to shake around Duncan.
Ever since fame found me I have been searching for someone in the industry to call mine. Someone who understands the pressures of being in the public eye. The demands of a schedule that isn’t your own. The need for space to allow creativity to flow.
But, my creative output is at an all time high because of the fun-loving hockey player in my living room.
"Fuck." I grit out as my release barrels through me.
Duncan’s teasing smile is the only thing I see before my vision tunnels and I spill onto the shower floor.
I rinse off again and step out reminding myself not to get attached. Not to make this more than it is.
We’re friends who fuck.
That’s it.
After drying off I wrap the towel around my waist and quickly run through my skincare routine. I run a bit of pomade through my hair and finally apply body lotion. With my skin, body, and hair ready I step into my closet and pull a linen blend polo and pair of flat-front shorts out to wear.
I skip the shoes but I know which ones I’ll grab if I need to.
