Chapter 19 Jed
NINETEEN
JED
I shut my apartment door, drop my forehead against it, and take a deep breath.
What a fucking night. I push back and shake out my hands, then throw my keys into the bowl on my island.
I stare blindly at the concrete countertop.
All I can see are blue eyes peering from beneath gold-fringed lashes.
I rest my hands on the counter and finally let the weight pressing on my neck take over.
My head hangs and my eyes flutter shut as my body trembles.
The brutal game from earlier dragged me through every kind of mental and physical exhaustion. Another goddamned loss. Then pile on tonight. Pure emotional whiplash. Annoyance turning to fun, fun turning to holy fucking shit.
I’m a sieve.
Empty.
I have nothing left.
A knock echoes through my empty apartment. My skin prickles.
He’s back. There’s no doubt who’s standing outside my door right now.
I barely register the walk over. It’s like an out-of-body experience. Like I’m watching myself from the outside. I pull the door open.
He steps into my apartment, steps into me. The door swings shut, and he’s still walking. Walking me up against the brick wall of my small entryway.
“You said not to start something I’m not ready to finish.”
I don’t respond. With words or emotion. I just stare silently at him. If I open my mouth, I’m afraid I’ll ask him to stay.
He fists my shirt, and my abs flinch. He walks backward, pulling me with him. Little does he know I don’t need the physical pull. No. I’m drawn to him. I have no choice in that matter. It’s lurking underneath my self-control. Growing stronger. While my restraint grows weaker.
His back hits my island. My body meets his, and my hands land on my countertop again. The same position as a moment ago with one big fucking difference. Those blue irises locked on mine. Steady, determined.
“Finish it, Jed.”
Fuck.
One time, my mind whispers.
No. Bad idea. Stay strong.
Shane’s hand lands on my stomach under my black tee, and my breath hitches.
He slides up muscle by muscle until his fingertips skim over my nipple.
Tugs on my piercing. My body shudders. Something he doesn’t miss.
His cocksure smile is back in place. He pushes me back and I go, nothing but a puppet being thrown around by him.
Confusion fogs my already tangled thoughts. He’s pushing me away now?
He shrugs out of his jacket, then he reaches over his shoulder, and in the next heartbeat, his loose white tee is gone.
Oh.
My greedy gaze devours every inch of toned, tanned, bare skin.
The man is ripped. I’d have to be blind to have not noticed.
But now I’m allowed to look. I don’t hide my admiration.
No, I get lost in every dip, caress every curve.
His shoulders are covered with a spattering of freckles.
I want to study them, trace them with my lips. Tongue.
Teeth.
He preens, glows under my appreciative gaze.
Then his hands land on his jeans, and he pops his button free.
My attention pings between his hands and his eyes.
Is he really? He drops trou. And I lose my jaw.
Somewhere. I’ll have to find it later. Because here Shane Michaels is, in nothing but…
bright fucking yellow boxer briefs. I frown. With bananas on them?
He hops up on my counter, toes off his shoes, and waves his feet at me. “Help a bro out?”
I do. Because my brain is empty. Still trying to get past his banana boxers.
“You would wear sunshine-yellow boxers,” I mutter. “God, Sunshine, they’re so fucking bright, they’re blinding. I honestly can’t even look at you.”
The bananas are surprisingly suggestive too. I’m not sure if I’m into them or it’s just how down bad I am for this man.
His blue eyes spark with something dangerous, and his grin turns devilish. He slowly slides off my counter. Then those yellow boxers are gone. Fucking gone. His cock bounces slightly from the movement, already on its way to full mast.
And I…I’m not sure what words are any longer. Oh God. Shane Michaels. Surfer Boy. Sunshine. He’s naked in my kitchen. He’s naked in front of me.
I think a really embarrassing noise comes from me, but I’m helpless to hold it back.
He’s so fucking pretty. His body is a work of art.
Those dimples are flashing at me, and that cock—it’s calling to me.
Those surprisingly lush lips are split in an I know I’m hot grin.
I can’t help myself. I lift my hand and trace them.
I didn’t get to fully enjoy them back at the bar. I was too caught off guard.
His eyes flash in surprise. Then that smile curls into something so sensual it wraps right around my dick. Squeezes.
He leans forward. “Finish it, Jed.”
Then he pushes off my chest and struts through the kitchen to my bedroom, blindingly white tight ass flexing with every step.
He reaches the small hall and glances left and right. He turns toward my bedroom but pauses, his attention flicking back to me. “I’ll be waiting.”
And with that husky invitation, he disappears inside.
Fuuuck.