by J. Daniels
I stare at his profile, a bit confused.
Shower?
Once again, the ‘why bother’ question fills my head. We’re about to mount each other. I, for one, plan on utilizing every hard surface in this studio. It’s 90 degrees in here, and my entire body is coated in a light sheen of sweat.
Everybody has their routines during sex. Maybe Mason likes to start off freshly washed?
“Yeah, okay. Hurry though.”
He gives me a curt nod and takes to the stairs.
Mm. He lives here. Strangely, that thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Even though Dylan lives above her business, I hadn’t considered Mason having the same situation.
I pad about the studio for two, three minutes, maybe.
Curiosity gets the best of me. Or maybe I’m too horny to wait any longer.
I quietly slip upstairs.
I’ve always loved shower sex.
MASON
Warm water hits the back of my neck as I drop my head between my shoulders.
With a soapy hand, I stroke my dick. My free hand braces my weight on the wet tile.
Brooke. Brooke. Brooke.
What the fuck am I doing?
I could be feeling her tighten around me right now. Roaming my hands over her soft curves. Licking the sweat off her tits while I palm her arse and lower her onto my cock.
Instead, I’m jerking off to thoughts of her like a desperate juvenile.
Fuck, but if I don’t . . .
I’ve been fighting off an erection since I saw her on the footpath. That struggle intensified when I got a view of the back of her¸ and then she had to go and strip in the middle of my fucking class.
She has me and she knows it.
I pinch my eyes shut.
She is so incredibly beautiful.
Barely any makeup. The glow of her skin from exertion. Her hair, tousled and slick with sweat.
My hand works faster. I rock my hips.
God, I need to come.
I want to talk to Brooke. I want to know her, and I’d really love to do that without my dick being hard and without the overwhelming desire to bury myself balls deep mudding up my thoughts.
When was the last time I couldn’t get through a single conversation with a woman without imagining what she would look like wet and begging beneath me?
I’m not that guy. I sure as hell don’t want to be that guy for Brooke. And I won’t be . . .
I just need to get this ache out of my body.
My thighs tense beneath me. I take a moment to rub my thumb over the head of my dick, mingling the water and precum. I let myself moan. The quick slapping of skin echoes off the walls of my small bathroom.
I remember what she felt like as I held the slender curve of her hips. She was smooth and warm. Sweat pooled in the dip between her collarbones.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp, my hand working furiously now.
If only she knew what I was doing. What I was thinking. How close I was to . . .
“Mm. Need a hand with that?”
My eyes flash open at the sound of a voice at my back. Equal parts wicked and sweet. Stilling my hand, I squeeze the base of my dick and look over my shoulder.
Brooke peers inside the small opening in the shower curtain, smiling, her gaze lingering on my arse.
“Shit.” I wrench the handle and cut off the water. Fuck . . . fuck! I probably look like such a fucking wanker. Covering myself as best as I can, I turn to look at her. “Brooke, I . . .”
She slides the shower curtain back.
Good fucking Christ.
My mouth falls open. My breathing quickens. Brooke, now completely naked, stands before me, proudly showing off her insanely sexy body as she leans against the wall. Calculating smirk twisting across those sexy as fuck lips.
I can’t pull my eyes away. I knew she would be a fucking sin to look at, but I had no idea . . .
Her full tits sit high on her chest. A faint blush spreading over them. Her nipples, a dusty pink, hardened and ready for my tongue. The soft flare of her hips. Long, shapely legs. Her bare . . .
My cock jumps against my hand.
She lifts her leg to step inside the small shower with me.
“Whoawhoawhoa.” I shove the curtain open further and reach for two towels. “Here. Fuck, please put this on. I’m . . .” I struggle to speak, to secure my own towel around my waist while holding one out for her. The cotton brushes against my cock and I moan.
I was so fucking close. Why didn’t I lock the door?
She laughs softly, lowering her foot. “Why the hell would I do that? And why are you covering up? Turn the water back on and fuck me.”
I step out of the shower. “I think maybe we should talk a little first.”
“Talk? Yeah, okay. Were you not just jerking off thinking about me?”
“No, I was. I was, I just . . .”
“Then what is there to talk about?”
I give up on wrapping the towel around my waist and hold it against my cock, offering her the other one. “Please, Brooke.”
I need her to cover up. I can’t hold a conversation with this woman with her tits out.
Speaking of tits . . .
She crosses her arms underneath them. They bounce a little and I bite back my moan.
“Do you want me or not?”
“I want you,” I answer quickly. God, isn’t it obvious? “Trust me, Brooke, I want you, but maybe we could take this a bit slower, yeah?”
“Slower? Why? I want to fuck you. You clearly want to fuck me, based on your massive erection, which bravo, by the way. He’s beautiful.” She takes the towel from me and drops it on the floor, inching closer. “You came up here to jerk off to thoughts of me. I know you didn’t finish. How close were you?”
“Close.” I step back. My hip hits the sharp edge of the sink.
The wolf circles her prey, ready to attack.
“It would be a shame to stop now, don’t you think? I hear blue balls are a bitch.”
I grab her wrist when she reaches for me. “Brooke.” My voice is much softer now. I sound weak. I feel weak. I’m so close to saying fuck it and bending her over the sink.
She stares up at me. Her thick lashes flutter closed before she steps back out of my grip. Anger flares to life in her eyes. “What is your problem? What the fuck is this?”
Damn it. She is pissed, clearly, but the way her gaze avoids mine and scatters about the room, she’s feeling something else too.
Rejection? Does she not see how difficult this is for me?
“If I were to fuck you right now, then what?” I ask, although, I fear I already know the answer to this. She’s moving way too fast to want anything real with me. “What would happen after, Brooke?”
“After?” Her eyes slowly find mine.
“Yeah, after. What would I be to you?”
She breathes a laugh, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “If you think it’ll be weird for me, you’re wrong. I can handle casual sex. I’ll even wave to you if I see you out. It won’t be awkward.” Her gaze lowers to my towel. “You’re still hard, by the way.”
“I’m aware.”
It’s bloody painful.
She leans back against the wall. Her calculating smirk returns. “Tell me you don’t want to fuck me right now.”
“I can’t do that,” I reply, briefly glancing down at my raging hard-on that’s tenting the towel. I lift my head. “Look, I want to fuck you, but I want to know you, Brooke. I can’t do a meaningless fuck. That’s not me. And I don’t want that with you. Why don’t we get dressed and go get something to eat. Talk a little. I want to know about you.”
She stares at me for several seconds. The silence between us grows deafening.
“You’re serious.”
“Very.” I straighten my spine. My chest suddenly feels tight. “Go out with me.”
Blinking several times, she turns away. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She snatches her clothes off the
sink. “You’re actually shooting me down right now.”
“I’m not . . .”
“This is unbelievable,” she mumbles. She pulls on her pants, then slips her top over her head, leaving her bra and panties off.
I don’t try and stop her. If I am going to walk around the city with Brooke without an erection, she’s going to need to be clothed.
Of course, knowing she’s wearing nothing underneath those fucking pants could cause a bit of an issue. And her nipples . . . God, this might be torture.
Her hand turns the doorknob. “Thanks for the class. It was surprisingly fun.” She storms out into my living space, leaving me behind.
“Hold up a second. Let me get dressed.”
I head for my dresser, still pressing the towel against my cock. Brooke takes to the stairs without looking back at me.
“Brooke!”
She disappears to the first level.
“Fuck.” I don’t bother drying off. Grabbing a pair of boxers, I tug them on, then pull some shorts out of the drawer. Water drips down my face to my neck. I wipe it from my eyes.
She’s not waiting for me. She doesn’t want to go for a walk and let me find out about her. She feels rejected, which is entirely my fault. But with Brooke . . . even if I give in and fuck her for the sake of fucking her, I’ll feel like the biggest tosser on the planet. Sure, it’ll probably be one of the hottest romps of my life, maybe even the hottest, but then it’ll be over. She clearly won’t want anything else to do with me.
“I’ll even wave to you if I see you out.”
Wave to me? Fuck that. I want a lot more than a bloody wave from her.
My feet beat against the wood as I dash down the stairs, only to step out into an empty studio. I swing the door open and move outside, hoping to catch Brooke, but the footpath is quiet. A street lamp flickers in the distance as I dart my eyes left, then right. The bakery is dark across the narrow street that separates my business from hers.
I push a hand through my wet hair. Frustration burns the back of my throat.
I refused her.
I refused the knockout I can’t stop thinking about.
I drop my head back and stare up at the stars. My groin throbs.
Blue balls? Can’t be all that bad, can it?
Blue balls are, in fact, the worst fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Brooke might as well have taken a jackhammer to my nuts before she stormed out. I feel ready to explode. My legs barely get me up the stairs before I’m whipping my dick out and squeezing it roughly.
The pain is indescribable. The urge to fuck burns like a wild-fire in my veins.
Even as I move my hand over my dick in the silence of my loft, frantically chasing my orgasm, I’m getting no relief. Everything is so sensitive. I squeeze harder, stroke faster. It hurts to do this. It hurts not to. I want to scream.
I need to come. Goddamn, I need to come.
I’m sure I could wait this out. It can’t stay like this, can it?
That unnerving fear has me reaching down and cupping my balls with my free hand. I roll them between my palm. My thoughts race to Brooke standing outside my shower, leaning against the wall, pressed against the wall. Her tits, her arse, her smooth pussy I want to nuzzle with my mouth.
My breath hitches. Fuck! Finally!
With a strangled groan, I come all over my hand and stomach. The ache between my thighs dissipates.
A familiar satisfaction settles over me, but will it last? Will I ever be truly satisfied until I have Brooke in the ways I want to have her? Which includes every filthy act of depravity I can think of.
I sag against the mattress as I reach for my discarded towel from earlier and wipe myself clean.
My eyes close. I listen to the beginnings of a storm in the distance. The low rumble of thunder.
I hope she isn’t walking home.
Sleep evades me most of the night as my mind refuses to settle. My body is spent from class, from my orgasm, but I’m restless. My cock slowly grows hard against the sheets. I ignore it and roll over, rubbing it into the mattress.
The morning sun rises too early. Light burns across my eyelids, and I make a mental note to pick up curtains or some shit to keep my room dark when I need it. I hope to God this isn’t any indication how every sexual encounter involving Brooke, fantasy or not, leaves me.
I’m not going to be able to teach six classes a day if I’m up half the night.
Coffee. I need a fuckton of coffee.
I get dressed and head outside, pulling on my sunnies. The footpath is wet from last night’s rain, and the air is a bit sticky. I avoid the puddles as I head south on Fayette, my eyes glancing back in the direction of the bakery until I can no longer see it clearly. A little shop on the corner across the street grabs my attention, and I jog between cars and step up onto the curb.
I pull the door open and step inside, inhaling a lungful of the delicious scent.
My glasses get pushed back on top of my head. I freeze. A body I’d have to be dead not to recognize stands a few feet ahead of me, leaning against the small counter as she waits for her order.
Her perky arse sways as she moves her hips to the beat of the song playing softly overhead.
I move closer, smiling. “Brooke.”
Her head whips around, then the rest of her turns to face me.
My eyes rake over her tiny form.
She’s in jeans again, tight on her hips and legs. Her red shirt dips low in the front to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. And on her feet, runners, an old pair of Nike’s.
Her hair is up, pulled back into a dark, messy knot, with a few pieces framing her face.
She raises an eyebrow. She looks agitated. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
I almost laugh at her suggestion, but decide against it when she shows no sign of her question being a joke.
“What? No, I like coffee. I’m here for coffee. This was purely a coincidence.” I take a step toward her. “You left last night. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Talk,” she laughs. “There’s that word again. Did you have fun talking after I left?”
My brow furrows. “Uh . . . to who?”
She eliminates the space between us. Her hand flattens against my chest as she stands on her toes to get as close to my ear as possible. I inhale her perfume. Some sort of berry scent. It’s light and sweet.
“Did you finish getting off after I was gone?” she whispers.
My hands form to her hips. I drop my head, brushing my lips against her hair. “Yeah. I had to.”
“Mm. So did I. You were amazing in my head. I came all over my fingers.”
“Fuck,” I groan. Not meaning to, my fingers squeeze her hips, hard enough to possibly bruise her. I move my hands to her back.
God, she feels good against me.
“Me too. I . . .” My words trail off.
Am I really doing this? Am I about to confess to this woman how hard I came last night in the middle of a fucking coffee shop?”
She leans back to look up at me. “It’s a shame we couldn’t have handled that shit together. A damn shame.” She slaps her hand against my chest and spins back around, leaving me reeling.
I grab her elbow. I’m not done with this conversation. “Hey.”
“What?” Her voice sounds distant. She barely turns her head to acknowledge me.
The bloke behind the counter carries over four coffees before I can get her attention again.
“Here you go, Brooke. Sorry about the wait.”
She steps forward. I move quickly to grab the carrier, being sure not to completely shove her out of the way in the process. Only the side of my arm bumps against hers.
“I got these. Did you pay?” I ask, reaching blindly with my other hand for my wallet.
“What?” Eyebrows pinched together in confusion, she tries to grab the carrier. Her height difference from mine doesn’t allow for it. She really is tiny without those heels.
&n
bsp; With an exasperated huff, she jumps with her hand in the air. “Yes, I paid. And can you give me that please, you big tree?”
“I said I got it. Come on.”
“Come on? I thought you were getting coffee.”
I shrug, looking down at her. “I’ll come back.”
Her hand slaps against her thigh. With a shake of her head, she moves toward the door. “Fine. But there’s a crack in the sidewalk and I’m not going to tell you where it is. If you fall, that’s on you.”
I stifle my laugh, following behind. “Fair enough.”
We walk side by side on the busy footpath. People move in a blur around us. Brooke keeps her arms tightly crossed against her chest and her gaze locked ahead of her. Mine wanders between the path ahead and her profile.
“How tall are you?” I ask, breaking up the silence after only standing it for a whole ten seconds.
She looks over at me. “I don’t know. 5’2”, I think. Why?”
“Just curious. You threw me off with your shoes the other day, when we first met.”
“Mm.” She turns her head.
My mouth curls up in the corner. “You were right about blue balls. Bloody awful, that was. I thought I was dying.”
A small laugh erupts from her. She quickly conceals it with a cough. “Well, that was all your doing.”
“Actually, it’s yours. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Thinking about me,” she repeats, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “But, you don’t want to do anything with me. You turned me down.”
“I want to do a lot with you.”
I wait until she glances in my direction before I continue. Her eyes slowly reach mine.
“A lot, Brooke. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about doing things with you. I just want to know you first. Spend some time with you. Like this. I like talking to you.”
“Crack.”
“What’s that?”
She points ahead of us. “Crack. Right there. Watch out.”
I look down, careful to step over the jagged edge of the concrete that protrudes a good five centimeters from the flat plane.
Fuck. That would’ve been one hell of a fall.
“I thought you weren’t going to warn me,” I ask through a grin.