Page 28 of Saving Wyatt

And I knew I was drunk on the flawless, impeccable work of art before me, because even when I was standing in front of it so inappropriately, it still took me moments, moments that felt like whole minutes, before my brain kicked in and kicked me out of that bathroom.

Even with the door closed, I could still see the man behind it as if he was standing right in front of me. I stared at it as if staring at him, every inch of my body pulsing.

What a specimen of a man. He was the stuff of dreams. Or more accurately, the stuff of porn. The kind of guys you only saw in racy adult scenes that you never would imagine you'd meet in real life, let alone touch. And he was standing just a few feet away from me.

Fuck!

I groaned as my cock got hard at the thought of him, fully formed and glorious in my mind, and retreated back to my bedroom.

I needed to put some distance between me and this dream of a hunk before I did something inappropriate and so unlike me.

I leaned against my closed bedroom door and tried to tame my body. Warren stirred in his sleep. I bit my lip. Gosh, I forgot he was here. Even more of a reason to get myself under control. I couldn't walk around this house with a raging boner.

If Wyatt was going to stay here, this was going to be such a huge problem. So huge.

I closed my eyes, and without meaning to, I recalled the meaty length he had tried to hide behind that flimsy towel, and I choked back a groan.

What was I doing? Why was I fixating on him when I should be doing everything in my power to cast him out of my mind?

I took a deep breath, then another, and focused on my phone. The text message from Evan. The heart emoji.

Yeah. Focus on my dead husband. That was the best thing I could do in my situation. It had been so long since I'd felt such uncontrollable lust that my body felt like a foreign entity in my current state, but with a few more controlled breaths, I managed to get my blood flow under control, and the effects of nitric oxide subsided until my penis went flaccid again.

I was a grown, professional man, after all. I couldn’t be acting like a hormonal teenager in a wet dream.

There was some commotion in the living room as my body and mind returned to normal. When I finally heard the other bedroom door open and shut, I felt like I could risk going back out there without the danger of bumping into the gorgeous man all wet and naked…

Stop it, Ari!

I sighed and locked myself in the bathroom. I turned the hot water on, went about my routine and got undressed, but as soon as the heat of the shower splashed down my body, any control I'd found went literally down the drain.

My dick got hard again, and as desire spread out inside me, so did the hot water across my skin making me feel fired up and heavy for no reason.

My mind reeled again. I was standing in the same spot he had moments ago. The same shower he'd washed that immaculate body. Had he beat off in here?

Wyatt took shape and form in my head once again, and I couldn't resist the temptation any longer.

I reached for my cock and stroked myself, all my resolve dissolving into water and steam all around me.

The more I stroked, the fuller his image became in front of me, and it was as if I was watching my very own private video of him online, fully fledged and in high definition. A hunk of a silver fox bringing pleasure to himself one tug, one moan, one glance at a time.

The more I touched myself, the more intense his gaze became on me until not only our eyes were locked but our moves coordinated. Real-life me and the fantasy imprint of the man who'd been here minutes before, synchronized and spiritually connected, both dedicated to reaching the incredible high coursing through our body and seeing it through to the mellow end.

My cock pulsed in my hand, it throbbed. My whole body tensed as if unable to function until I stopped, yet finding it impossible to do so.

As I shot my load all over the enamel shower floor, my breathing turned rugged and the water cold, but the tension washed away with it, and I was left leaning against the tiled wall trying to catch my breath.

"Fuck!" I mumbled, my voice hoarse from the steam and the exhaustion after what I'd just done.

I knew I should feel a little guilty, a little inappropriate, something. I hadn't done this while fantasizing a real-life man—especially not one two rooms over—in a very long time. I'd always stuck to the fictional unattainable men and my good memory of Evan.

This was a brand-new fantasy. But it was just that. A fantasy. As long as it remained that, we'd have no problem.

Beating off to a hot guy was one thing. Feeling your body lose control in front of said guy was a whole other thing. I had to find a way to control that. I had to find a way to exorcize it before I did something entirely inconceivable.

As I dried my body with the toasty towel and waved steam away, I turned to my phone and opened my text message chain with Evan.

This had to be my anchor. It had been my anchor long enough. It should suffice. My heart was shut for business. It belonged to Evan. It always had, always would. I just had to remember that whenever I looked at the man in my house and it would ground me.