Chapter Ten #2
He chuckled, a rich rumble that made her skin pop out in gooseflesh. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I almost never see you flustered. It’s pretty cute.”
“Blow me,” she suggested tartly.
“I thought we weren’t doing that anymore.”
Eyes still closed, she stuck her tongue out at him.
He chuckled again. “If you need the bathroom, I’ll be out in a minute.”
She risked popping one eye open. He stood at the sink, a towel draped loose and low over his hips while he squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush. “I can use the one upstairs.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably and set down the toothpaste. He started to raise the toothbrush to his mouth, then paused, one tawny eyebrow quirked in question. “Are you going to use it soon?”
She was staring like a virgin, she realized, and scowled to cover the blush as she turned to stomp down the hall and up the stairs.
She dealt with her most pressing need first, then turned on the shower. The heat was already rising, leaving her feeling sticky, and since she’d forgotten to tie her hair back before bed, it was a tangled mess.
She climbed into the narrow stall, adjusted the temperature to just shy of too cold, stood under the spray and tried not to think about Nash naked.
She failed.
Dammit, he’d looked so good. Skin gleaming as water dripped, his eyes dark as coal.
There’d been surprise in those eyes when the door had burst open, followed quickly by amusement and the low, simmering heat that seemed to live in his gaze.
She’d slammed her eyes shut, but not fast enough to avoid the sight of his penis, hanging soft and flaccid between his thick thighs.
And with that quick, almost accidental glimpse, desire had bloomed.
She closed her eyes now, sighing as the water streamed over her along with the memories. She knew just how that penis could fill her up, pussy or mouth or even ass if she was in the mood, and the water was suddenly too warm.
She reached back and cranked it down a notch, shivering when the chill increased, and picked up the soap.
It was just a penis, she lectured herself, and lathered a washcloth.
It was nothing special. It couldn’t solve world hunger or bring peace to warring nations or do something really useful like fix her damn air conditioning, and it wasn’t, despite what a great number of their owners seemed to believe, a magic producer of orgasms.
As far as she was concerned, one dick was pretty much the same as another—it was the person it was attached to that mattered. That this one was attached to Nash was the problem.
She wanted him. She’d have to accept that, she realized, if she wanted to get past it. And she did—she had to, because she couldn’t afford to have her heart broken again.
There was a quick, painful pinch under her heart, a shadow of that remembered pain. Deliberately turning away from the memories, she slid a hand between her legs. Better to focus on what she could have than what she couldn’t, she told herself, and with slow, unhurried strokes, let desire build.
She closed her eyes and let the image of his non-magic penis bloom in her mind.
As he’d been this morning, wet and soft and flaccid.
As he’d been when she’d woken him with her mouth on his cock, thick and hard and pulsing with need.
She could all but feel him in her mouth, in her hand, and her fingers quickened on her pussy.
She circled her clit as her thoughts shifted, a home movie of intimate moments playing in her mind.
Him pinning her legs down and feasting on her, eating her cunt like he’d wanted to devour her whole, humping against the mattress in time with the pulse of her hips.
Sliding inside her, painfully slow, until she’d been ready to beg.
The coil of desire in her belly grew tighter, heavier, but the orgasm remained distressingly out of reach. Frustrated, she redoubled her efforts, angling her body so she could get a foot on the soap ledge in the cramped stall and slide a finger into her pussy.
She shuddered at the added sensation, and for a moment the orgasm was right there. But she couldn’t go over.
She worked herself harder, closing her eyes to focus.
Fucking herself hard with two fingers, then three, scissoring them apart in the hopes that the stretch, that slight pain would send her tumbling over the edge.
Rubbing her clit with the other hand, harder, firmer, so it ached with need and her entire core felt like a thick, pulsing nerve scraped raw.
And still she couldn’t come.
On a pained oath, she yanked her fingers free, wincing when her battered, sensitive flesh protested, and picked up the shampoo bottle.
When she stepped out of the shower to dry off, her pussy was still pulsing, still begging for relief.
She did her best to ignore it, weaving her wet hair into a thick braid and brushing her teeth before dressing for the day in a loose cotton sundress and the softest panties that she could find.
Then, still ignoring, she went back downstairs.
Nash was at the kitchen table, dressed in blue shorts and a white T-shirt with a blue whale on the front, sipping coffee.
He glanced up when she walked in, his eyes flicking over her briefly before coming back to her face. “You okay?”
She started to force a smile, to lie, then decided she didn’t have the energy. “Not really.”
Concern darkened his eyes and he set down the coffee pot. “What’s wrong?”
My pussy hurts and I can’t come, she thought wryly, but shook her head. “I’m just tired. I didn’t get in until after midnight.”
“Is Chloe okay?”
She pulled a coffee cup down from the cupboard and poured herself a cup before answering. “For now, yeah.”
“Anything I can do?”