Page 34 of Seven Year Itch
“Obviously!” The muscle in Calder’s jaw flexes under his beard as he looks away from me.
“Randal was not there.” I laugh at the thought. “If he was, I certainly wouldn’t have been there.”
Calder shakes his head with a confused frown. “You said you were there because of him.”
“I was, but that doesn’t mean I was with him there. We’re divorced. Completely.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes, good. He didn’t deserve you, but that still doesn’t explain why you were there.”
“Calder, I’m not getting into this with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because no offense, but it’s really none of your business.” I shift in the bed as the sensation of walls closing in on me hits me the more we discuss this.
“Fine, forget it then.” He resumes the movie, refusing to make eye contact with me, even though Iknowhe knows I’m looking at him.
I stare at his brooding profile for a moment and feel a pang of guilt. He’s being so nice to me, and here I am with all my black-cat energy ruining his attempt at being decent. But this is such a personal thing that I haven’t even talked to Cozy about yet. I can’t confide in Calder of all people.
It’s better this way. Calder doesn’t need to know how crazy I really am. Maybe no one needs to know.
Calder
I am one sick motherfucker, I think to myself as I stand under the scalding-hot shower of our attached palapa bathroom. The grip I have on my hard shaft has me trembling as I press my forehead against the shower wall, bracing myself.
Dakota Schaefer completely shut me out after I went above and beyond to make her feel better. Something I’ve never done. And now what am I doing? I’m in here stroking one out like a teenager because I couldn’t take my eyes off of my shirt riding up her legs after she fell asleep beside me. Or how I could see the hard buds of her nipples through the thin fabric and knew she was completely bare under there.
A smile teases the corner of my mouth when I recall the moment she started snoring.
She fucking snored.
And I got a boner.
Sick. Motherfucker.
I squeeze the tip of my dick and bite back a moan. Fucking Dakota. Those curves. Her breathy groans as she snuggled closer to me and her warm skin touched mine. Felt like I was on fire in that bed with her.
Maybe I need to go back to Club Lexon and find a Domme if this is the kind of shit that gets me hard. A rude, off-putting nag who snores like a trucker... Is there a room at the sex club to exercise that kink? I’m guessing not. Little too niche, I’d bet.
But it wasn’t just her snoring, it was the way her face softened in her sleep. So peaceful. Like she finally let her guard down and just let herself breathe.
So fucking sexy.
And I’m so fucking stupid because I let my mind wander as I watched her sleep like a creep getting myself so worked up. I had to ditch the movie and come in here to relieve myself.
I tremble as I thrust harder into my fist, eyes closed, picturing what Dakota’s face would look like if it was her I was thrusting into. How her full lips would part as I bury myself balls-deep. Her breath would become ragged as I thrust in as deep as she’ll take me. The picture my mind conjures is so fucking hot, I have to relax my grip before I blow, not wanting this fantasy to end just yet.
A small laugh escapes me, echoing off the shower walls as I think of how her scowling Karen barrier would vanish forever if she gave me one fucking night. Just one night to cure her of her bristly attitude. One night to erase whatever that fuck-wit Randal did to inspire her to visit a sex club by herself.
My fist squeezes my shaft at the rage I feel over Randal entering the fucking chat. I hate that he had her. I hate that she let him see her naked. I hate that I care that he saw her naked. I fucking hate her. I hate that the more I hate her, the thicker my cock gets. I hate that the more I admit I want her, the harder I feel myself thrusting into my hand.
I rise up onto my toes as the tingles of climax begin to heat my balls and I can’t stop it now. Pressing my head against the tiles, my grunts reverberate loudly in my ears, and I don’t even try to quiet myself as I visualize her body in the pool, at the sex club, in our bed.
A primal rush of heat floods my tip when I think of her waking up, covered in my scent. “Oh God,” I grunt, and like a fucking animal my climax rushes from me, spurting over the walls of the shower as I shudder and pant and jack every last drop from my length with a punishing grip.
