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My cheeks burn with embarrassment even though there’s not a soul other than myself who could possibly know I just came thinking about the guy I’ve been trying to avoid for four months.
In three days, I’ll have to share an enclosed space with him again, sitting right next to him knowing that I moaned in ecstasy imagining his head between my legs.
What would he say if he knew?
Has he ever done what I just did? Fisted his cock while thinking about running his hands over my body, thinking about thrusting between my thighs?
Embers of arousal still smoldering inside me start to glow again, but this time I’m in control of myself enough to push those thoughts from my mind.
I don’t need to be thinking of Tuck tonight any more than I already have.
What I do need, is a cold shower.
10
TUCK
Igroan in relief as hot streams of water flow over my tight muscles, relieving them after the punishing workout.
Rhys and I just finished a weightlifting session. It got a little bit competitive. Honestly, most of my weightlifting sessions get competitive. Most of everything I do gets competitive. What can I say? I’m competitive by nature.
I should’ve known better than to try and go toe-to-toe with Rhys when it comes to back and shoulder lifts, though. Rhys is a defenseman of the grittier variety. He doesn’t need to be as fast and nimble on the ice as I need to be, so he can afford to carry more muscle.
Me, I’ve got plenty of muscle, but I prefer to stay leaner than guys like Rhys or Hudson, both because it suits my style of play better, and because I think it makes me look better naked.
And how I look naked is very important to me.
Still, I pushed myself as far as I could go with the weights, and I’m feeling the repercussions.
I moan in discomfort as I try to rotate my shoulder, the tight and sore muscle restricting my range of motion. I turn my hips to put my shoulder directly into the stream of hot water, sighing in comfort as it eases the ache.
I close my eyes and let my mind wander as I take a deep breath of the steamy air.
Of course, my mind immediately goes to the same place it’s been going to whenever I’ve closed my eyes since yesterday: to sitting next to Olivia in that tutoring room.
I can almost smell the strawberry and vanilla scent that wafted from her hair right now.
I dip my head under the stream of water, looking down so that my hair gets soaked. My eyes are still closed, thinking about that tutoring session …
When our hands brushed when she handed me that pencil? Fuck, the arousal that ripped through me from that tiny speck of contact was more intense than anything I felt the last time I had sex.
Which was … I’ve lost count of how many days. But it’s been months.
When I finally open my eyes, I’m staring down at my cock, rock hard and bobbing up and down as it throbs with want.
I look side to side. The showers here at Brumehill are individual stalls, and Rhys is gone now. I’m alone.
When I remember the sparks that erupted when my knee glanced against Olivia’s yesterday, my arousal only ratchets up. My balls are tight and aching, begging for release.
“Fuck it,” I murmur as I wrap my fist around my cock.
A growl rumbles in my chest while I slowly pump up and down my length, keeping my grip light for now.
Rivulets of hot water cascade down my chest, trickling down the ridges and valleys of my defined physique as I increase the speed of my hand. A tight ball of pleasure coils deep in my core, sending tendrils of heat spearing through me until my muscles are taut and my grip is tighter.
When my fist glides over my swollen mushroom head, I graze the pad of my thumb over the opening of my dick, imagining it’s the tip of Olivia’s pretty pink tongue doing so instead.
My teeth grit at the sensation that rolls through me, a curse dropping from my mouth.
