CHAPTER 40
Ana
I NEED A release.
Something strong, something distracting enough. Something that isn’t Troy Larsson.
So, I did something really dumb today…
I spent my entire morning stalking Troy’s Instagram (which I proudly have never followed).
Yeah, back to the stalking…
Chiseled abs. Chiseled jaw. Chiseled arms. Sexy smile. Hypnotizing green eyes. More chiseled muscles.
I didn’t realize my panties were soaked until I reached a post from five years ago. That’s when the embarrassment drowned me.
So, that was it, I shut off my phone to study.
And now I’m stress cleaning.
Hair tied up in a sloppy bun, and Windex and Lysol attacking from each of my palms, I tidy up all the surfaces in my room.
Not one inch of dust remains when I’m done.
I rub the edges of my study desk to nick off a final scratch.
Then, poof, another one appears. Cleaning is like running on a hamster wheel because you fix one spot, then another tarnished piece of matter pops out of nowhere.
Leaning forward to reach my next target, I push my body over the desk to reach this peskier mark that’s lodged between the wood and the wall.
And,
I moan?
At the weight of my body against my desk, my clit sings in pleasure.
Oh God.
No, I’m not doing this like this.
I push my weight off the edge of the desk, though the sting between my legs, it still lingers.
Rolling back my shoulders, I take a deep breath to collect myself, before resuming the finishing touches on that last spot. I lean forward, cautiously this time. At the sway of my back, I remember how it arched into Troy a few weeks ago.
Stop.
The way those big and capable hands pulled my hips into his.
Stop.
The way I was completely adsorbed in his clean scent, while he pushed me up that ballet barre so that I could rub my clit against it.
Stop!
The way my pussy clenched with need a few days ago when he thought he caught my bluff.
Stop!
It’s too late.
My clit is throbbing now. I can feel the hot liquid sticking to my thighs as I drop the scrubber that’s in my palm.
I peel off my gloves, and unbutton my sweater just enough to reach my chest. Halfway down, and like a true maniac, I dart my gaze to my left and then to my right, quickly to make sure no eyes, except for my own, are in this room.
The curtains are shut. My bedroom door is shut.
I suck in a breath as my hands slip into my sweater, cupping my bare tits as my body leans over the desk.
That tempting grove that dips between the drawer and the top of the wood meets the sweet spot between my legs, and I roll the edges of my nails against my nipples at the exquisite pleasure.
Not remembering a time where getting myself off felt quite like this, if ever, that’s when Troy reenters my brain.
I stop.
No it can’t be. This can’t be happening to me right now.
Heaviness shuts my eyelids again. Those strong arms are all I see.
Long, capable fingers reaching over my hips from behind, finally, finally, dropping between my legs, slipping into my panties, tapping right against my clit, teasing my wet flesh with tight circles, whispering in my ear that he can’t wait to fuck me with his big, hard cock that I already feel straining right into my ass cheeks.
“Troy—”
The orgasm is incredible. It bursts from my core and dances all the way down to the tips of my toes, filling me with gooey, fiery warmth. I come so hard, my vision’s still a blur when my eyes finally drop open.
Once my brain returns to planet Earth, my jaw drops open.
Because
I
Just
Said
His
Name.
I
Said—
“Ana.”
The sound of pounding against my door makes me swallow hard in mortification.
Troy?
_________
I must have a year full of prosperity and good luck in store for me next year, because what the fuck is this year?
Let’s have a recap, shall we:
Lost old figure skating pair.
Forced to skate with lifelong rival.
Punished to learn an ice dance for fighting with this rival.
Masturbated to the thought of this rival right before this rival knocked on my door.
Gee, I can’t wait for what’s next!
Alas, there’s no time to dwell on my recent misfortunes, because said rival is standing a few feet outside my flimsy bedroom door, for whatever reason.
I scurry over to my bathroom sink and wash my hands, then pat the sides of my hair that managed to slip out completely from my scrunchie. Letting out a deep exhale of uncertainty, I squeeze onto the doorknob before opening the barrier that lies between us.
The sight of Troy’s face makes my stomach flip with aftershocks of desire.
God, he looks wonderful.
A navy t-shirt and dark jeans, perfectly fitted, not too tight, not too loose where you can’t see all those delicious muscles.
I did not just call his muscles, delicious. Jesus, Ana, seriously?
“Hey,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as psychotic as I feel.
Troy’s expression quickly shifts, his brows knitting together at my, let’s see—jittery stance? Heavier breathing? Messier hair? His gaze travels to my chest, and my own brows furrow. A look of understanding dawns on his face.
“So,” he drags out, intrigued, “who’s the lucky guy?”
“What? No one.” My back straightens defensively. “There’s no one here.”
His eyes quickly raise in amusement. “Ah, ‘twas a solo session, then.”
When my temple creases further at his implication, his gaze drops back down to my chest, gesturing there.
Shit.
The buttons on my sweater are still halfway down…
“Cut whatever mystery you think you’re solving right now, Larsson,” I warn.
Troy pretends to scan around the tiny hallway behind my door. “Thought I heard my name…” he says slyly.
My eyes shoot up.
There’s NO wa—
“No, you didn’t!” I snap, way too defensive, heat burning along my neck like wildfire.
“Huh?” He takes the slightest step back, the divot between his brows deepening.
Whatever method of denial I was aiming for erupts in flames since if it wasn’t a given before, he definitely knows now.
“I was just messing with you, but, okay…” His lips curve with pride, his arms crossing with arrogance. “How was it?”
Deny, deny, deny!
“Why are you here?” I distract.
“No need to be embarrassed,” he lures, the satisfaction in his eyes growing.
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say with disinterest while heat continues to simmer from my cheeks.
He leans against the doorframe, relaxed. “Really, I’ve jerked off to your skating videos before.”
Why is the room a hundred degrees warmer, now?
Disbelieving, I blurt, “You have?”
“Many times.”
When his eyes play a game of chess with mine, I digress, “You’re messing with me.”
“I guess we’ll never know, hm.” Troy lifts his weight off the wall. “Just came to tell you practice is cancelled tomorrow.”
“You couldn’t have texted me this?”
“I did, but it didn’t go through.”
Realization hits.
“Oh, right. I turned off my phone today to study,” I explain. “Surprised you drove all the way here. Thanks.”
He shrugs. “I was already in the area.”
“Really?” I quip.
“Yup, was driving back from somewhere.” He bids me a farewell, as I hear Lucy’s room crack open. “Oh, and, Ana?” Turning around to face me again, he coaxes, “If you need me to step in next time, all you have to do is ask.”
When my jaw locks tight, he fights the urge to laugh before heading toward our front door.
_________
“Are you insane?” Lucy scolds, entering my room as soon as Troy leaves.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“He’s even more beautiful in person.” She plops onto the seat at my now impeccably clean study desk. “Ana, I’m telling you this because I love you.”
She loves me?
“You need to sleep with that man. And soon.”
Yeah, not happening.
I do laugh inside, though.
No, I actually stare at my whacko roommate, half-afraid Niko’s about to strut right in and show off his glutes at the sound of a threat to his testosterone.
“I bet he has a big dick,” Lucy swoons.
“How can you even tell?” I say, though I’ve heard rumors. Rumors that support that claim…
Ugh.
“I just know,” she retorts. “Something about his aura.”
“His what?”
Ignoring me, she continues to daydream, “That, and the size of his hands, his height, the way he walks.”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation...
“Since when can you tell a guy’s dick size by the way he walks?” I ask.
“Only since the beginning of time.”
I let Lucy ramble on, now getting the strange inkling that her own sex life might not be as picture-perfect as she’s made it sound.
Wondering why I’m even listening, I realize that Troy and my conversation continues to play on a loop in the background.
Specifically, when he paid me his last line, I’m ashamed to admit that traitorous part of me felt it. It felt it all.
If you need me to step in next time, all you have to do is ask.