Page 31 of Flirt
When he finally ran out of places to clean and parts to groom, he reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out onto the plush, memory-foam rug.
It took another ten minutes to dry himself, pull on his clothes, comb his hair, and brush his teeth once more for good measure. After, he spent a little time tidying up the bathroom, then a little more making the bed and straightening the closet.
Finally, when he couldn’t put it off any longer, he left the guest suite and went in search of Asher, wondering what in the hell he would say when he found him.
Hey, sorry I totally blue-balled you last night. No hard feelings, right?
Oh, yeah, great conversation starter. Not awkward at all.
“Good morning,” Asher called when Cameron strolled into the brightly lit kitchen.
“Good morning,” he said back automatically, but his feet refused to take another step.
Standing at the kitchen island, Asher had at least a dozen take-out boxes lined up on the countertop, each with their lids open to reveal a variety of breakfast foods. It was actually kind of funny, but that wasn’t what had stopped Cameron in his tracks.
Wearing only a pair of black basketball shorts that rode low on his hips, Asher epitomized male perfection. His hair was damp from a recent shower, the locks almost black at the roots. His lips were still swollen from sleep, so he probably hadn’t been awake very long, but otherwise, no one would guess he’d drank just as much as Cameron had.
No one had any right to look that good first thing in the morning.
Cameron couldn’t move. Hell, he could barely breathe. So, he just stood there, drinking in the sight of the muscled chest framed by broad, defined shoulders, and tight cobblestone abs that blended into the perfect V at his hips. It was then he finally understood that John Mayer song.
Asher’s body was indeed a wonderland.
He tried not to stare. He really did, but every time he attempted to meet Asher’s eyes, his gaze would be drawn back to that lickable V between his hips. Cameron’s breath lodged in his throat, and his cock swelled with appreciation, tenting his sweats and throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat.
“So, uh, what’s all this?” he asked, trying for nonchalant but pretty sure he wasn’t pulling it off as well as he hoped.
“Leftovers.” Asher shrugged, then slid a fork down the counter. “Hungry?”
He was hungry, just not for food. “Can you put a shirt on?”
The words tumbled out before he could stop them, but dammit, Asher was too fucking distracting. Cameron needed to focus, to do…something, because…reasons.
Naturally, his internal meltdown did not go unnoticed. Of course not. Asher saw everything. His lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes darkened, his lids sliding to half-mast as he traced his bottom lip with his tongue.
“Am I upsetting you?”
Cameron cleared his throat and stared fixedly at the countertop. “Distracting is probably a better word.”
“Oh, do tell.” He shuffled a little closer. Not so close that their bodies touched, but enough to feel the heat that radiated from his bare skin. “What exactly am I distracting you from?”
The seductive, cocksure attitude from the previous night had returned, and that sexy confidence did nothing to soothe Cameron’s nerves or tame his growing desire. Just the sound of Asher’s voice sent him from zero to sixty in the span of a heartbeat, and by the time he’d finished talking, Cameron was so hard he fucking hurt.
Worse, a wet spot had already begun to form on the front of his sweatpants. He cursed himself for not having the foresight to buy boxers during their ridiculous shopping trip. Who the hell spent a thousand dollars on jeans and T-shirts and didn’t think to buy underwear? Honestly, most people, if he had to guess, butheshould have thought of it. He always remembered things like that.
He planned. He scheduled. He organized. He made lists, checked them, rechecked them, then color-coded them. He didnotjust decide to spend the weekend with his kind-of-maybe-might-be boyfriend on a whim.
What the hell were they even doing? Three dates, a couple of kisses, and some public dry-humping did not a relationship make. Asher had agreed to no random hookups while they were together, but he’d probably assumed he would be getting some pretty regular sex out of the deal. Not a guy who basically cockblocked himself.
Cameron wasn’t a prude. He just had certain rules when it came to dating and sex. No kissing on the first date, and no sex until he’d been seeing someone for at leastthirty days. It wasn’t scientific or anything, but it did make him feel better, calmer. More in control.
So, what was it about Asher that had him wanting to break all his carefully crafted rules?
~
After calling Cameron’s nametwice and receiving not so much as a glance in acknowledgement, Asher plopped down on a barstool at the island and just watched. He didn’t know what was going on inside the guy’s head, but from the looks of things, it appeared to be intense.
Pacing back and forth along the length of the island, Cameron waved his hands around animatedly and muttered things under his breath. Every once in a while, Asher would catch bits and pieces, and he’d have to stifle a laugh at words like “underwear,” “cockblocked,” and “kissing.”
