Chapter 5 Nora
NORA
Freddie leads me through the kitchen while he tells Russ to grab something for me to change into.
“You really didn’t have to let me stay,” I say, feeling strangely on the spot.
Freddie turns his jade gaze on me for a moment, and in the light of his house, I can see him better.
His dark, messy hair, his faint five-o-clock shadow.
His broad shoulders and thick biceps practically bulging out of his tight black T-shirt.
In some ways, his features are similar to Brett’s.
They’re both tall, built, and have that same chestnut hair that their father has, but that’s where the similarities stop.
All the Sterling brothers—Freddie, Rush, and Tommy—have their mother’s green eyes. Though the shade seems to vary from dark to light, with Freddie’s being the darkest. His green eyes remind me of a forest at night. Haunting, dark, and beautiful.
I look up at him, feeling a sort of embarrassment but also a strange sense of comfort.
“Brett’s father may be an asshole, but mine raised me right,” Freddie says as he nods for me to follow him down the hall to one of the bathrooms. I’m not sure how many are in this house, but the one he leads me to is pretty large.
“There’s spare toothbrushes—in their packaging of course—in the cabinet there.” He points to a large cabinet in the corner. “There’s also body wash, make-up wipes, period stuff,” he says as he runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks heating. “If you’re um—”
“I’m not,” I say awkwardly. “Not yet, anyway.”
He nods, his cheeks rosy. “Okay, good to know, uh…basically, we’ve got whatever you need. I like to uh…be prepared. In case of surprise…guests.”
The realization dawns on me that his surprise guests are probably not out-of-town family or friends. No, Freddie, Rush, and Tommy are all single men in their twenties who play hockey. Their surprise guests are likely the women they bring home and fuck.
Because that’s what single men do.
And apparently, some committed men too.
The thought is unnerving to me, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to think about Freddie Sterling with his cock buried in some woman, using that commanding voice…
My pussy twitches at that thought as visions of Freddie with his piercing green gaze and his dark hair, those broad shoulders on full display over me, heavily thrusting inside me. Telling me to come.
I shove the intrusive thought away as my cheeks heat.
What the hell?
“Okay, thanks,” I say, swallowing awkwardly.
“Here.” Rush bursts through the bathroom door, carrying what looks like a pair of gray Lansing Lions sweatpants and a large white shirt. And then I see a pair of boxers on top of the pile.
I raise an eyebrow at him as he sets them down on the counter.
“Sorry, I don’t exactly have anything smaller than this, and well…I know it might be weird, but I promise the underwear is clean,” he says with a smirk.
“Nothing’s grosser than old underwear after a nice hot shower.”
“Or bath,” Freddie says. “I mean, you can take a bath if you want to just, you know…relax or—”
I look between them as they share some sort of knowing look. Again.
“Whatever you need,” Freddie says, his voice returning to that soft, commanding tone that makes my insides ache. “Whatever you need, Nora, just uh…let me know, okay?”
I nod, feeling strangely on the spot. “Yeah, of course, I’m uh—” I point to the shower, feeling the effects of my night hitting me at once.
“Right. Um…I’ll show you to the guest room when you’re done, just come find me in the living room, okay?” Rush says, running a hand behind his head.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” I say, and with that they both leave, nearly knocking one another over as they exit the bathroom and shut the door.
With them gone, I breathe out a sigh of relief and nearly collapse on the floor. I fall against the counter, my hand landing right on top of the borrowed clothes Rush gave me. I pick up the underwear—they’re smooth, almost silky-feeling and look tight.
Like the underwear Brett used to wear, the kind that’s so skintight it draws attention to every curve. The little pocket calls my attention, and heat floods my core as my intrusive thoughts procure an image of Rush wearing this.
He’s not as thick as Brett or Freddie, but he’s not without his definition, and I know that only because Rush isn’t shy about his body one bit. He’s been in several hockey calendars, and every time his photo is one of him with his damn shirt off or with his underwear hanging out of his jeans.
I shouldn’t think about my ex’s brother in his underwear. Or how his ass would look in said underwear. And I certainly shouldn’t think about how his cock would look in this, given the little separator.
I know just how these things make a man’s cock look. Bigger, thicker. Brett wasn’t exactly huge, but even so, this type of underwear always made him look huge, which is why I think he wore them.
I can’t say I didn’t like seeing him walking around our house—his house—in nothing but them. And nine times out of ten, anytime I saw him in them…
Let’s just say Brett ended up with his underwear around his ankles enough times I think he wore them on purpose.
The thought is sobering.
I push the clothes and all thoughts of Brett and his cock out of my mind and instead focus on brushing my teeth, because I need to get the vile taste of vomit out of my mouth.
I open the cabinet and notice everything Freddie mentioned. The cabinet is filled with washcloths, towels, spare toothbrushes, makeup wipes, wet wipes, tampons, body wash, lotion and…
I grab a spare toothbrush package and some toothpaste from one of the bins and set to opening it and brushing my teeth.
I can see my reflection in the mirror and note I really do look a little worse for wear.
My hair is a knotted, tangled mess, my skin is pale—paler than usual—and my dress looks a little off-center.
I look like I feel, that’s for sure.
I spit out the toothpaste and rinse one last time before grabbing a towel and washcloth—and sue me, I grab one of the unopened shower gel bottles in the cabinet—cucumber melon—and head over to the large shower.
The tub sits next to it, and I debate actually taking Freddie up on his offer, but I know what I really need is sleep.
I can feel a migraine coming on, and I know I’m going to be hungover as shit tomorrow.
So I start the shower, letting the water run to heat up a moment as I undress myself. I peel my dress off easily as well as my bra.
I nearly gasp when I slide my panties off, noticing how wet they are.
Oh. My. God.
Even though no one can see me, my cheeks heat. I drop them, not wanting to acknowledge that.
What the hell?
I get under the spray quickly, wanting nothing more than to wash away these weird, confusing feelings. I find some shampoo on one of the inlet shelves and grab it, taking a whiff first. It smells masculine—like cedar and citrus mixed with cinnamon. It smells like Rush.
The thought makes my insides twist, and a soft moan escapes my throat. I squirt some into my hand and run it through my hair, closing my eyes. The scent fills my lungs, heightened by the steam.
The water feels too good on my body. Hot, soothing.
I close my eyes as I massage my scalp, breathing in the smell of Rush and remembering how that same smell invaded my lungs on the dance floor.
We danced together, and it was…
Fun.
For a little bit, anyway, and then…Rush held me in the car. Pulled my hair back for me so I could upend the contents from my night of drinking. And then he held me the whole way home.
I think back to moments ago when he gave me his spare clothes. His clean underwear. My mind wanders to thoughts of just what he’d look like in them, even though I told myself I wouldn’t think of that.
But I can’t seem to help myself. My pussy aches, and even underneath this spray I can feel the desire, the arousal culminating there.
I’m not sure what’s getting me all worked up, because it certainly isn’t my ex’s brothers, no.
It’s not Rush, and his sweet scent or his warm touch.
It’s not Freddie and his stern, commanding voice.
And it’s certainly not the thought of Rush’s cock in that tight-ass underwear, all hard and pronounced in its sizable pouch.
I try to push the thoughts away, but it’s no use. As my hands travel over my skin, washing my body, my pussy throbs for relief. And I know the only way to truly relieve myself of this ache is to take care of it.
I feel guilty as fuck, but I’m in here alone. It’s not like anyone can hear me. And maybe if I stay quiet, just focus on the task at hand, I’ll feel better. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
So I slide one shaking hand down my torso and slip one finger inside myself. The relief is almost instant as I let out a low moan. I’m soaked. Just like my panties were.
I can’t remember a time when I was this wet without stimulation.
Sex with Brett wasn’t bad by any means, but usually it took a good bit of foreplay for me to get slick enough to take him. I slide a second finger in, and there’s barely any resistance, so I slide a third in.
My legs shake as the ecstasy forms in my stomach, in my loins.
I close my eyes instinctively and spread my legs a bit more to ground myself as I brace one hand on the tile wall and rock my hips forward.
Then back.
Forward, then back.
The relief feels too good to stop, so I continue, letting my mind wander to places it shouldn’t.
Rush’s thick cock bulging in that tight underwear.
Freddie whispering, “Good girl” in my ear as he thrusts himself inside me.
Filling me with his cum.
I gasp as the orgasm hits me out of nowhere like a damn hockey puck to the face. My pussy spasms around my fingers, my legs shaking as that crescendo hits, as I imagine being filled.
“Oh, fuck,” I curse, feeling every pulse, every clench of my pussy, my thoughts a wild mess of things I know I should not be thinking about, given present circumstances.