27. Turkey Sandwich Days
TURKEY SANDWICH DAYS
April
KEATON
R outines are a funny thing. They sneak up on you. Like, one day you wake up and eat a turkey sandwich, and then two months go by and you’ve eaten a turkey sandwich every single day, and you think, Huh. I guess I eat daily turkey sandwiches now .
Although in this case, turkey sandwich is a euphemism for hot sex with a dude.
Days have turned into weeks. The snow has melted and spring is in the air. And so is my dick. Luke’s warm fingers encircle the base of my shaft. He gives a lazy stroke, and I groan softly.
It’s nine thirty-ish in the morning, and we’re in my bed, naked and horny.
The first couple of times he crashed in my room, I worried that one of our frat brothers might catch us, but eventually my anxiety tapered off.
Bailey and I are the only ones up here on the third floor, my door has a lock on it, and the only guys who might barge in are Judd and Tanner, who’re both out of the house by six a.m. on weekdays for baseball practice.
Luke’s free hand strokes the cleft of my ass.
We probably don’t have time to fuck right now, but just the suggestion makes me harder.
There’s no denying how much I like it. My prostate is my new best friend.
And when we’re in a hurry, there’s a dozen other fun ways we get each other off.
Bailey gives the best blowjobs on the planet.
What he doesn’t give me a lot of is words.
He’s a tight-lipped bastard and nearly impossible to read, so sometimes it’s a challenge being around him.
For example, this morning I asked him if I could come to the club tonight to watch his set, and instead of answering he just kissed me and started rubbing my dick.
It worked, too. That’s why I’ve forgotten to complain these last few minutes. His kiss is deep and hungry. My hands explore the muscles of his back, and his narrow waist. Only when we’re making out does he let me touch him anywhere I want.
He sighs happily, stroking me. It’s almost enough to make me forget the question I’d asked.
“You didn’t answer,” I mumble against his lips. “Maybe I’ll just show up tonight, either way.”
I immediately regret saying that, because his hand leaves my cock.
A pair of stern eyes bore into my face. “Don’t.” His sharp tone invites no argument. “My work is off-limits. I already told you that.”
“What’s the big deal?” I protest, all the while wishing he’d touch me again. “You’re hot when you strip. I’m talking Magic Mike-level heat.”
“I know I’m hot when I strip—it’s my job to be hot.” To my disappointment, he climbs out of bed. His massive hard-on swings up and smacks his tight abs. “I need to focus when I’m at work. You showing up would be a distraction.”
“Fine. I won’t,” I promise. “Now will you come back here and finish what you started?” I fling the sheet off my lower body, and my erection bobs up to say hello.
“Nah.”
“Why not?” I demand.
He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip. “Because you displeased me.”
I sputter with laughter. “Are you serious right now? I displeased you?”
“Yeah, by bringing up the work shit. Your big mouth cost yourself my mouth.” Luke’s eyes gleam dangerously. “Bad boys get punished, Hayworth.”
Ohhh. I see where this is going and I ain’t gonna lie—I’m fully on board. So is my dick, judging by the way it grows impossibly harder.
Luke doesn’t miss my body’s response. But when I slide my hand down my stomach toward my groin, he stops me with a swift, “Hands at your sides.”
“But I’m horny,” I whine.
“Don’t care. Hands at your sides.” When I hesitate again, he mocks, “Don’t make me ask you a third time.”
My mouth goes dry. I slowly press my palms to the mattress on either side of me.
“Good. Now lie there and let me eye-fuck you.” He grabs hold of himself with one fist.
Oh Christ. Is that how it’s going to be? He’s going to torture me by getting himself off and forcing me to watch? Just watch.
He pumps his shaft, and, yup, apparently that’s precisely how it’s going to be.
Bailey’s eyes greedily roam my naked body as he strokes himself. I want to mimic what he’s doing, but I’ve been ordered not to move. So I simply lie there, harder than a post and aching for release. When his fist moves faster, my breathing becomes labored.
“You’re wishing you could jack yourself right now, aren’t you?” Luke taunts.
My gaze is glued to his. “Yes,” I croak.
“Don’t look at my face. Look at my cock. Look how hard I am.”
I dip my gaze. Oh Jesus. He’s the sexiest thing in the world. “Iwantit,” I mumble through my arid throat.
“What was that?” he teases.
“I want it,” I repeat, clearer this time.
Luke slants his head in thought. Down south, he’s jerking himself off, slowly but deliberately. “What do you want?”
“Your cock.”
“Nah,” he says again. “You’re going to watch me come. And you’re not going to say another word, make another sound, until I do. And then, maybe , I’ll let you come too. But only if you show me you can follow the rules. ”
His rules. The rules I’ve been following for more than two months now. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when he bosses me around in bed. It turns me on something fierce. But his my-way-or-no-way temperament extends beyond the bedroom, and for some reason I’m beginning to resent that.
Right now, though, I only resent not being able to give myself any relief.
“So,” Luke drawls. “Are you going to follow the rules?”
I nod wordlessly.
With a sultry smile, he gives himself another stroke. “Fuck,” he grinds out. “You look so hot lying there. You get me so hard, every time.”
I bite my lip to stop a moan. If I make a sound, he’ll stop. We’ve been together enough times for me to know that Bailey doesn’t make idle threats.
He lets out a hot gasp, and I think he’s getting close.
And while I enjoy watching, I also want to touch him. So I beg him with eyes. Come here . I lick my lips. Taste me. Own me .
He avoids my eyes, setting that laser gaze on my quads and then lifting it to my straining cock. But maybe the mind-meld thing I’m trying to do is working. Because he lifts his chin and shows me those dark eyes.
And just for a second I see something there that I like a whole lot. It’s ownership, with a side of need.
Come here , I inwardly beg. Right where I need you .
He moves fast, spreading his body over mine, nipping my shoulder. “Jack me,” he whispers. “Quick.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I shove a hand between our bodies and take both of us in hand.
“Fuck,” he whispers, before kissing me harshly.
I fucking love it. I open for him, inviting him in. He moans into my mouth as I stroke him fast and dirty, the way he likes it.
He makes a broken noise, and I open my eyes to watch him tip over the edge. He’s so beautiful when he comes—all flashing eyes and desperate groans. His cheeks flush darkly.
For once, our gazes lock as he shudders and pulses in my hand. “ Ah!” he gasps, losing himself in the moment. I crane my neck and kiss him again, needing to be there as he comes.
My hand is drenched, and he bears down on me, scraping his cock against my oversensitive skin. “Now you,” he breathes. “Go.”
I love it when he tells me to come, and my body is triggered and ready. Three or four strokes are all it takes until I’m sucking on his tongue and moaning against his mouth, spending into my hand.
He collapses onto me with a sweaty sigh, and I hear nothing else over the heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I grin up at the ceiling. Hi, endorphins . Thanks for stopping by.
Luke kisses my neck slowly. I like it a whole lot. And I rub my clean hand slowly along the curve of his ass.
This part lasts all of five seconds, though. And then Luke hauls himself into a vertical position and grabs the paper towels.
He does that every time—either gets up or rolls over. Like staying in my space would break one of his many rules.
“I gotta hit the shower before finance,” he says now.
“Bailey,” I call before he can leave.
He makes a rumbling sound as he turns to face me. “Swear to God, Hayworth, if you bring up the visiting-me-at-work thing again?—”
“No, not that,” I assure him. “I was just going to invite you to Sunday brunch again.”
He visibly swallows.
Ha. I knew that would get his attention.
And I don’t miss the indecision that crosses his expression as he mulls over the invitation.
We’ve gone through this several times before: I invite Luke to brunch with my dad, Luke hesitates, and then he either rejects the offer or caves in.
For five out of eight invites, it’s been the latter, resulting in him once again serving as my Dad buffer.
Initially I was a bit dismayed that Luke and my father get along like rabbits in heat.
But every time I bring Luke to brunch, he’s an incredible buffer.
Hell, he’s even better than Annika when it comes to placating my father.
They talk business the entire time, and I get to play Candy Crush on my phone.
He never orders the eggs Benedict anymore, though .
“Nah,” he says now. “I can’t make it this weekend. But thanks for the invite.”
Frustration fills my belly as I watch him slide out of my room. I swear, this guy is so difficult. It’s like he’s determined to keep everyone at arm’s length.
And I still have to show up at brunch, damn it.
I lie here feeling sorry for myself for a moment. And then the perfect solution presents itself to me. I grab my phone off the bedside table and open up my favorites. I touch a number that I don’t dial very often anymore.
“Hey, Annika!” I say when she answers. “Want to come out for brunch on Sunday? For old time’s sake?”
I’m probably just imagining it, but I swear Luke growls a little in the next room.
And clearly I’m a genius, because brunch with Dad is totally fine. Annika orders the eggs Benedict and makes lots of small talk. Plus it’s great to catch up with her. So I’m winning at life.