Page 66 of Big D!ck Energy

COLD SHOWER, HOT PROBLEMS

DALLAS

I closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, the cool wood pressing into my shoulder blades. My hands raked through my hair hard enough to sting.

The ghost of her taste lingered on my tongue.

I caught my reflection in the mirror above the double vanity and almost laughed. I looked wrecked. My hair was pointing in six different directions, my lips were swollen, my eyes glazed, and the expression of a man who just had his entire worldview dismantled by a single kiss. My gaze dropped to my pants. Below the belt, the situation was equally dire, my body making its enthusiasm abundantly clear, almost painfully so.

We should practice. Brilliant strategy, Dallas.

The problem was, it had worked too well. We'd been entirely too convincing. Or maybe that was just me, considering I'd forgotten the word fake existed approximately two seconds after her mouth touched mine. The way I'd hauled her onto my lap, my hands finding the curve of her hips like they'd been searching for her my whole life, holding her there while I kissed her like I was staking a claim…

And the worst part? I wanted to do it again. Right now. Tomorrow. Every single day until…

“Get it together,” I muttered to my reflection. He didn't look convinced.

Six months. That's all this was. Six months of playing house with a woman who made me want to tear my hair out and tear her clothes off in equal measure. Six months of pretending to be in love with someone I could not fall for.

I turned on the shower, cranking the handle toward the blue. The colder, the better. My clothes hit the floor in a pile.

The icy water hit my shoulders, and I turned my face into it, letting it needle my skin, willing it to wash away the memory of her.

It didn't work. It only made it worse.

Behind my closed eyes, she was everywhere. Not just her face—all of her. The way her hair had felt wrapped around my fingers. The weight of her pressed against my chest. The give of her hips beneath my palms when I'd pulled her closer, greedy for more contact.

I'd wanted to strip her naked right there on my couch. To find out whether reality matched the fever dream my imagination had constructed the moment I met her.

My hand flattened against my chest, then slid lower. The cold water wasn't doing a damn thing to cool me down, and that's when the reality of our situation hit me.

The new bed I ordered earlier wasn't coming for another three days. Which meant until then, we'd be sharing.

There was absolutely no way I could climb into a bed with her like this. Not with my body wound so tightly and every one of my nerve endings screaming for contact. I'd last approximately four seconds before I did something catastrophically stupid that would shatter our arrangement and probably get me slapped.

My gaze dropped to my rock-hard cock. I had two choices: take care of this now, or spend the entire night lying six inches away from her, with a raging erection and slowly losing my mind.

Option two wasn't really an option at all.

I wrapped my hand around myself as I gave up pretending I had any self-control where she was concerned.

The first stroke dragged a sound out of me that echoed off the tile. The fantasy shifted, sharpened. Her eyes, dark and hungry. Her lips parting. The breathless little gasp she'd made when I'd nipped at her bottom lip, like I'd surprised her, like she'd liked it…

“Fuck…” Her name caught in my throat as the pressure built, my rhythm growing urgent, graceless. “Davina…”

My grip tightened as I pumped slowly, the slick soap from my body mixing with the water, creating a smooth, gliding friction.

My fantasy accelerated as I pictured her kneeling. Her big brown eyes stared up at me as she wrapped her small hand around me. The steam of the shower surrounded us, but her breath was hot on my skin.

And then her lips parted, and she took me into her mouth.

My hand moved faster, mimicking the rhythm of my imagination. I pictured her tongue flat against the underside of my cock, then curling around the head. I can almost feel the wet, velvety heat of her mouth, the slight scrape of her teeth, the absolute surrender of her throat as she takes me deeper.

The rhythm of my hand was punishing now. Fast and desperate. Every stroke brought a wave of electric pleasure, coiling tighter in my gut. I pictured her mouth open, taking me deep, her body rocking back against each of my thrusts.

“Fuck,” I grunted as the release hit me hard, wiping my vision white, leaving me shuddering against the cold tile while the water ran over my shoulders and my pulse roared in my ears.

I stood there for a long moment after, forehead pressed to the marble, breathing hard. The tension was bleeding out of my muscles.