Page 33 of Festive Faking
I squeezed my eyes shut tight, praying he would give up if I kept quiet.
His heavy sigh reached my ears. “Aspen, I know you’re awake.”
Fuck.
“What’s up, Mac?” Maniacal laughter threatened to claw up my throat, so I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep it contained.
Way to play it cool.
What’s up, you ask? His dick, Aspen. His dick was up.
But not anymore, which you already know because you were watching him jerk off like a pervert!
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
Umm . . .
My brain short-circuited, trying to make sense of his words.
He was apologizing to me? That wasn’t right. I was the one acting as a voyeur, practically getting off watching him pleasure himself.
Because I wasn’t thinking straight, I blurted, “The only thing that made me uncomfortable was getting caught.”
My shocked gasp split the air.
This whole situation just went from bad to worse.
“You like to watch, Freckles?”
The amusement lacing his tone had me considering the barn as a sleeping location tonight. There was no doubt in my mind I’d just given him the fuel to torment me until the end of the spring semester.
“In my defense, the door wasn’t locked,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Maybe I like being watched,” Mac shot back.
My face flamed. Never in my life had I considered watching a man bring himself to climax by his own hand, but now, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And the idea that maybe it helped get him off too? It was too much.
“Look.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I was in the wrong. I knew you were in the shower. The least I could have done was knock before entering to warn you that I was popping in for my toothbrush. I’m sorry.”
I could practically feel the hum that vibrated through his chest. “I’ll accept your apology on one condition.”
The urge to peek over the edge of the mattress was strong, but I held steady, not moving a muscle.
When I remained silent, he said, “Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. My heart can’t handle waking up alone for a third straight day, knowing I’m the reason you’re running.”
A rush of air flew past my lips, and my mind raced a million miles per hour, processing those words.
Did it actually bother him that I kept sneaking out? And what did his heart have anything to do with it? Weren’t we both simply trying to survive this week before going our separate ways?
My throat closed up, but I managed to force out a weak, “Okay.”
“Good,” his rich baritone came in reply. “Night, Aspen.”
“Night,” I whispered back.
When I turned over, exhaustion pulled me under, only to have visions of Mac in the shower dance through my dreams for the rest of the night.
Chapter 13
