Page 16 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
No. Dear god, no, no, no. This absolutely cannot be happening.
But it is.
I just grabbed Lewis Prescott’s dick.
As I hole up in my bedroom, leaning my back against the closed door, my hand falls against my chest. My palm absorbs the frenzied beats of my heart. I press my eyes shut, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop envisioning the generous length between his legs.
I can’t stop envisioninghim.
Bare chested, skin wet and tan, that mop of dirty blond hair damp and tangled, his muscles bulging everywhere.Everywhere.And not the bulky kind...the long, lean kind that’s my weakness.
My throat goes dry as I recall how perfectly sculpted every inch of him is. I mean, that’s not breaking news. I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times—on TV and in movies, though. There’s something shockingly different about seeing that flawless physique half naked just inches from me. Like looking at a photo of a gorgeous mountain range and then seeing it in person and having your mind blown because nothing compares to observing pure, raw beauty with your own eyes.
Nothing compares to touching it either.
The hand on my chest—the hand that I accidentally fondled Lewis with—is now tingling. I yank it from my body and shake it until my fingers feel like they’re going to fly off my wrist. It’s no use, though. The sensation doesn’t go away. It’s getting worse, actually. That tingling is now flashing all over my skin, and a faint ache hits between my legs.
You have got to be freaking kidding me.
Are you serious right now, body?
I close my eyes, the answer to that question clear as day. Yes. My body is seriously turned on because I just felt up one of the hottest dudes on the planet...and there’s only one thing that will make it go away.
I slide my still-tingling hand down the front of my pajama shorts, under my panties, and lightly touch the spot that’s causing all this trouble.
“Fuck,” I hiss out in a whisper, then immediately clamp my mouth shut.
I cannot be loud when I do this. If Lewis were to overhear me as I touch myself to the thought of him, I’d die a million deaths of humiliation. So if I’m going to actually do this, I need to be quiet as a mouse.
My chest heaves as my fingers hover over my mound, not yet touching. But just the anticipation has me vibrating. Despite how badly I want to moan, I’m quiet. My mouth is practically wired shut as far as I’m concerned. God, Lewis was so insanely hot. All those droplets of water dotting his perfect skin, all over his perfect body. My mouth waters. What I would have given for the chance to lick his skin, to press my nose against his bare chest and inhale his heavenly fresh-from-the-shower scent of spicy soap and hot water. My mouth waters. I’d lick him all the way down to the good part, the part covered by the towel, the part that—judging from what I felt in my hand—is one hefty package.
I press my fingers gently against my clit, biting my lip to keep that moan at bay. God, I’m an absolute deviant for doing this. This is so naughty, so wrong...
Wrong.
That single word stops me dead in my tracks. My hand stills. My eyelids fly open, and I stare at my offending appendage, now raised above my head.
I absolutely cannot do this. I cannot touch myself to the thought of Lewis. He’s my roommate and my contractor, and I should only ever be thinking of him in that way. Nothing more.
I tug both hands through my hair, blown away at what I’ve almost just done: objectified the guy who’s kind enough to fix up my grandparents’ house for free.
“Jesus,” I mutter. This time it’s shame and embarrassment, not tingles, flashing across my skin. I am a pervert. Even though we’ve got a full day of working on the house planned, there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to be able to look him in the eye anytime soon. But I can’t just hide away in my bedroom either.
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” I mutter to myself.
I’ve got to clear my head and get some air so I can figure out how the hell I’m going to face Lewis after I just almost violated him in my filthy sexual fantasy.
I hop up, throw a hoodie on, grab my purse and keys from the floor of the bedroom, then crack open the door. When I peek through the inch-wide gap, I notice the door to Lewis’s room is shut. I say a silent thanks and dart out as quickly and quietly as I can, run through the front door, and hop into my car.
Caffeine is what I need. I was just groggy as fuck, waking up early to get ready for our early-morning renovation kickoff, and hadn’t had coffee yet. Everything will be just fine as soon as I chug a cup of the good stuff.
As I zoom to the coffee shop, I check the time. It’s barely 7:00 a.m. Dammit.
I’ve never needed to talk to my cousin more than I need to in this moment, but it’s Saturday and she cherishes her weekend sleep-ins. I dial her number anyway, because fuck it, this is an emergency and I need her to help me figure out what to do next.
Her phone rings for so long, I assume I’m about to get her voice mail, but she picks up.
“Hello?” she croaks.
