Chapter 15
Jack
Sixteen Weeks
Unlocking the door with the key Abby gave me when I started staying over full time, I let myself into the house and kick my boots off in the entryway.
“So I don’t have to drag my ass out of bed to let you in every time,” she muttered when she handed the key to me.
“Abby?” I call out. “You home?”
I listen for a response, my heart rate skyrocketing when I don’t hear one.
“Abby?” I call again, more loudly. I walk further into the house, down the hall in the direction of her bedroom.
She’s probably just taking a nap.
That thought is quickly extinguished when I hear her voice, a little muffled, but loud.
“Oh my god,” she yells. “Oh my God.”
“Abby?” I yell, running the final few steps to her doorway. “What’s wrong?”
When I throw her door open, the sight in front of me stops me dead in my tracks.
Her eyes are closed, pink headphones over her ears, with her hair fanning around her on the pillow. Her mouth hangs open, chest heaving with heavy breaths as she moans, “Oh my God,” again.
My eyes trail involuntarily down the rest of her body, coming to a stop where something hot pink and silicone buzzes in the hand she has between her thighs.
I try to back out of the room silently, but I stumble into the door, which slams against the wall.
Her eyes fly open, and she bolts upright, eyes wide in horror.
“Oh my God,” she yells again, but in a much different tone.
“I’m sorry,” I yell, clapping my hand over my eyes. “I’m sorry, I heard you yelling, and I thought something was wrong. I’m leaving.” I ricochet off the door again before finally finding my way back into the hallway, yanking her door closed behind me.
“Oh my God, indeed,” I whisper to myself, dragging my hand down my face.
I hurry down the hall and into the guest bathroom, where I quickly lock the door and turn the shower on, yanking my shirt over my head. I stick my face directly into the stream of water, trying to wipe the image from my memory as quickly as I can.
But I can’t un-see that. I can’t un-see the look of pleasure on her face, or the way her breasts looked with each rise and fall of her chest, that damn hand between her thighs.
I can’t un-hear the buzzing, or her panting breaths, or the way she whimpered “Oh my God” over and over.
My cock grows rock hard, an unwelcome sensation building in my lower stomach.
“Cut it out,” I hiss ferociously to myself. “That is so inappropriate.”
But even as I admonish myself, I can’t help but wrap my fist around it, giving in to the sensation for a few pumps.
She’s your best friend’s wife.
She’s your best friend.
With a low groan, I force myself to place my hands on the wall, my aching cock throbbing painfully.
It’s just because it’s been a while. It’s not because it’s her. You just need to get laid.
Accepting that it’s not going to go away, I reach my hand back down, working up and down my shaft and trying to picture anything but what I just saw.
But as my body shudders, my orgasm spilling down the bathtub drain, the last thing I see are fiery curls thrown back in rapture, and the face of the pretty girl they belong to.