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Water pours over my face and runs into my eyes. I squeeze them shut. But it doesn’t stop those images from playing. Her rounded thighs spread wide. For me. A small thatch of curls, and plump, wet lips glistening. For me. I licked and sucked every inch of that prize. Her taste is still in my mouth.
“Shit.” My voice echoes in the shower.
And though goose bumps cover my skin, I’m hot again. And hard. The tip of my randy dick presses against the cold tiles, and I find myself nudging forward just to alleviate the pressure. Shit. I want her again. Now. Badly.
I don’t even try to stroke myself. It’s not going to help. The horny bastard wants Anna, not my hand. Besides, I recoil at the thought of jacking off to memories of her now like a pathetic beggar.
God, it was humiliating to watch the realization of what she did steal over her features and the horror creep into her eyes. She couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’d sat back on my haunches in a fog of only partially satisfied lust, as she wrenched up her top and scrambled off the sofa. Her panties were a lost cause, apparently, because she simply fled the room with a mumbled “Sorry—bye” tossed my way.
She didn’t even let me kiss her. That burns the most. As if kissing me was so personal that she couldn’t bear it. As if she needed to relegate me to some random, meaningless fuck.
I groan again and run a hand over my face. My arms feel like lead, and I’m shivering. Slowly, I turn on the hot water and sink to the hard floor of the shower stall.
I’ve just experienced the hottest, most erotic, life-changing sex of my life, and I don’t think I’m going to get a repeat. Tonight was obviously an ill-advised hook up for her. And I’m so screwed because it was the best thing that has ever happened to me.
six
Anna
It didn’t happen. That’s what we’ll pretend. Flashes of Baylor rising over me, of his chest sliding against mine, his thick, heavy cock sinking... My steps wobble. Okay, it did happen, and I’m unable to pretend otherwise. But it doesn’t really count. It was a...a...cosmic blip, a slight detour from reality. It was a hook up. No more. No less. I can do this. I’ve had hook ups before. Wham, bam, thank you, man. Lust satisfied. Life goes on.
Taking a deep breath, I head down the hall toward class.
Shit on a Popsicle stick. Baylor lounges against the door, one long leg crossed over the other, his arms lightly folded over his broad chest. My heart pounds like a frightened rabbit gearing to spring from a fox.
He watches me, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Traitor that my body is, my heart leaps at that smile. My mouth wants to smile back. I bite the inside of my lip. It gets worse as I draw up before him. I know him now. I know the texture of his skin, what his cock feels like deep inside of me, the sounds he makes when he comes.
“Hey,” he says.
God, his voice–the memory of it whispering against my wet sex. Stop me.
I swallow thickly. “Hey.”
His smile grows. “I’ve been thinking about you, Jones.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
“Such animosity.” A warm puff of air touches my cheek as he leans in, bringing that body of his way too close. “I thought we were past that stage.”
I’m in my own personal hell because all I want to do is lick the side of his strong neck and dip my hand into his well-worn jeans to grab hold of what’s mine.
I wrench my head back and focus on his chin because I can’t look at him in the eye.
“You’re right. Let’s move on to the ‘never mentioning it or thinking about it again’ stage.”
Baylor frowns. “I don’t like that option.”
“I don’t care.” I give a pointed look at the door then his big, broad chest. “Do you mind moving out of the way? I want to get to class.”
He simply stands there, arms crossed in a way that does interesting things to his biceps and forearms. I still can’t meet his eyes.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asks in a lowered voice.
“No. Hardly.” Yes. Completely.
“You look embarrassed. You’re all flushed here.” He brushes a finger along my cheek.
