Page 115 of Jaded

I start fondling before I turn the water on, my right palm pressing against the outside of my sweatpants while my left fumbles with the dial. Damn, that feels good. Crazy for me to have to masturbate this soon after having sex, too, ’cause I don’t even need to that often, really.

But I keep seeing his face as he comes undone.

I’m fully hard now, my fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants to reach bare skin. My teeth dig into my lip to bite back a hiss as my fingers curl around the base. This is at least gonna be fast and dirty; I barely struggle my sweatpants down my hips with my left hand before I’m stroking.

The water’s not even properly warm, but I need the lube for my jerking hand, so I climb under and let the lukewarm spray hold me grounded. My eyes flutter closed, and I see him again, towering over me, that big beautiful cock glistening with precum right before my lips.

My hand turns frantic, the pace almost punishing as I very quickly approach the end of this little shower session. Faster, faster, faster. I see his head tilting back, see the stretch of his flat stomach over me, watch his face as he comes undone—

I come undone too.

Not as hard as yesterday, like my vision was trying to turn the hotel room into a cheesy space scene full of rainbow nebulas and sparklingstars. But hard enough I gasp and lean my shoulders quickly back against the wall while I struggle back down to earth.

Jesus.

Well, that was intense. But at least now I can concentrate on washing up and getting out and not wanting to jump Nat Taylor’s bones when he wakes up and decides last night was a mistake.

Which I mean, that’s gotta be the case, right? ’Cause sexual orientation aside, I’m me and he’s . . .him.

I switch off the shower, pull a towel around my waist, and head back into the bedroom—right into a green stare so intense it feels like a physical collision.

“Morning.” Nat’s still lying in bed, but he’s definitely awake. Staring at me. And the way his eyes slip slowly down my naked torso makes me glad I took care of things in the shower. “I wasn’t expecting a show this early.”

My cheeks heat, but I smirk anyway, because who am I kidding? Him looking at me like this—it’s hot, it’s flattering, it’s making my stomach do some kind of hokey-pokey jazz that simultaneously makes me want to run and climb into bed with him.

“Well, maybe you should’ve been.” I slip past his bed towards the bag deposited at the foot of mine. I should put some clothes on. “It’s way later than you think it is . . . Check-out’s in thirty.”

“Dammit,” he grumbles, dragging himself out of bed. The way he looked at me, I decide it’s okay to let myself admire his firm, rounded ass in those fitted black boxer briefs, the way they cling to his muscled thighs. He’s got a massive tattoo stretched across the outside of his upper leg, reaching nearly hip to knee: a southwestern scene featuring a straight road, a cactus, and a vivid sunset.

I force myself to look away, concentrate on my clothes, as he heads for the bathroom and the shower. I pull my socks on, telling myself that I’m definitely not wondering about whether he’s doing any self-care . . . and whether it’s to the thought of me, on my knees for him.

I really shouldn’t think about stuff like that.

The bathroom door opens, and Nat pops out, a towel slung around his waist, and it’s all I can do not to stare.

Especially when he greets me. “Hey, Aspen.”

“Haven’t forgotten that, I see,” I grunt, and then I let myself deflate into a sigh. “Look, all joking aside.”

He flops down onto the bed, still wearing only a towel. “You regret last night.”

“Don’t you?”

“I didn’t.” His face hardens into a mask of lines and angles, his normal facade, the one he shows the rest of the world. “Until just now.”

I wince. “Okay, that’s not what I meant. I don’t regret it. At all. Actually, it was probably the best—never mind. That's neither here nor there. Bottom line is . . . crap.”

I drag a hand over my hair, because what am I supposed to say? Look, I know you’re a playboy bi-guy, but I’m demi and picky as hell and crushing so hard and last night was amazing, but my career will always be most important . . .

I’m so fucking terrified of getting hurt, but of course I’m not going to saythat.

“We’re sorta on the same team,” I manage finally. “We have to be careful.”

“I can be discreet. Trust me, I am the master of discretion.” Nat shrugs, forcing me to keep talking, to share more slivers of truth, instead of hiding behind the easy lie.

“I don’t care if people know,” I say, and it’s true. “It’s more like . . .”

“You think I’m gonna suddenly change my mind?”

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