18. Indy
EIGHTEEN
INDY
I go into the bathroom, turn the shower on as hot as it goes, and step under the spray. My heart’s still jackhammering in my chest.
I rest my forehead against the wall and let hot water beat down on my back.
Fucking hell.
Fucking, fucking hell.
Water runs over my hair and my eyelashes.
This is much more difficult to rationalize than the last time. The last time we had sex at least there was a tornado to take my mind off the possible consequences. Now there’s no impending catastrophe waiting in the wings, so I’m suddenly faced with all my decisions and choices.
I’m not a fan.
You came in his mouth.
He jerked you off.
Yeah. Yup. That happened.
Fuuuuuck.
I rub the back of my neck and blow out a breath.
I’ve never reacted to anybody like this. He looks at me and I want. He touches me and I lose all coherent thought.
I want more. I want so much more that even thinking about that elusive more makes my knees weak and my cock twitch in anticipation.
I have no idea where he stands. He runs hot and cold with all the predictability of ocean waves during a storm.
He makes no sense.
He’s mercurial to an abnormal degree.
I don’t know what he wants from me, or if he even wants anything at all.
What’s worse? I don’t know what I want either.