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She holds the knot in the front of her towel, but underneath that, she’s naked.
Fuck.
My tongue swipes across the top row of my teeth.
Her breasts, squeezed by the tight knot in the towel, bounce as she crosses the hallway. When she passes my room, I get the view of her round ass as it sways from side to side.
I want to cup those cheeks with my hands. Bruise them as I pummel into her from behind. Violate her in ways no other man ever has.
I don’t. I won’t. I fist my hard cock. Pull at my short, thick black hair, so the pain will silence my groan of pleasure.
Texas. She’ll be in Texas soon.
The reminder hurts me to my core. In two days, forty-fucking-eight hours, she’ll be gone until winter break.
I’ll miss my daughter. That’s a given. But I don’t need my daughter more than I need my next breath. I certainly don’t obsess over Rylan. I do over Leighton.
I stroke my cock, pressing an ear to the wall as I do. Listening to the water running and imagining her nipples perking under the stream is torture.
Imagining the months I won’t have her here is worse.
I’m an asshole for pushing away from the wall. A complete idiot for grabbing a handful of clean towels from my closet, pulling open the door and stalking over to the bathroom.
Not like I have a choice. I need her, the only woman to get my dick this hard. The only one to set my lungs on fire. The only one to make my heart stammer.
Silence takes over the hallway when she shuts down the water. She’s probably reaching for a towel to dry herself off. Droplets of water trickle along her soft curves.
Seconds pass when the scent of daisies and summer filters into the hallway. Leighton’s body mist. I know it’s hers. I sniff the towels she throws into the laundry.
Outside, Rylan’s still laughing with Milo in the pool. There’s no danger of any of them coming up here in the next hour or so.
What about my moral compass, though? My ethics? What do I do with the voice telling me I should have Leighton’s consent before I enter the bathroom?
Easy. I shut the motherfucker up. Have to. My subconscious is a sick, depraved creature. It crushes everything I believe in. Makes excuses for my behavior.
Leighton is eighteen. An adult.
She’ll be gone soon. I must have this one last taste. Have my fill until Thanksgiving break when I go over there to visit them. There’s no harm in taking a small bite.
Something to live off on for the next few months.
Clank.
It’s her, placing her body mist bottle on the vanity.
Two days. Then she’ll pack the bottle with her and be far, far away from my reach.
She’ll forget any of this ever happened.
No. Nothing can happen. I’ll play what I’m about to do as an accident. That’s it. Pretend I didn’t hear her there. Go in and walk right the fuck out.
That’s how she’ll see it.
Armed with my sick sense of righteousness, I charge forward. The doorknob spins as I turn it to the right. I step inside the bathroom as if I haven’t just listened in on Leighton showering.
There she is.
No towel. No clothes on. Not even a bra.
