Page 38 of Hot Damn
An image of Cami, snuggled under my covers, bursts to life in my head and I jolt with the vividness of it. I don’t miss the movement in my groin either. The visceral reaction to my imagination is interesting. I’m not a fantasy kind of guy. If I feel the urge, I wait until I’m able to take care of it in the shower.
The last thing I want is my daughter walking in on that!
Thinking of the shower sparks my imagination further and I’m walking toward my bathroom before I know I’m moving.
Pushing open the door, I take a deep breath and find the scent from the bedroom is stronger in here. Two stepshas me in front of the shower door, hand on the rail that passes for a handle. With a tug, the glass panel swings out and an even stronger wave of Cami hits me.
And the movement in my groin becomes a rush.
I put my clean clothes on the counter and strip out of my dirty ones. I’m in the shower, water running, hand on my dick seconds later.
Closing my eyes I breathe deep and conjure Cami’s pretty face. I might not have acknowledged her looks before now but my subconscious isn’t stupid. In my mind she’s as clear as she’d be if she was right in front of me.
My hand tightens and a grumble of pleasure rolls through my chest. Firm strokes, a gentle twist to skim the top, and my dick is pulsing, pre-come oozing.
I lean into the hand I have on the wall, rest my forehead on my arm, and concentrate on the image of Cami in my head.
She’s on her knees, her hand replacing mine, her tongue sweeping out to drag across the swollen tip of my dick and it’s game over.
I’m shooting my load on the tile with sharp jerks of my hips.
Spent, I stay, dick in hand, for long moments as the water beats down. I should be ashamed of what I just did, using someone I’m not sure I even like as fodder for my own pleasure, but I’m not.
I’m still aroused.
More than I’ve been in so long I don’t remember the last time a hand job was more than a quick release of pressure and nothing more.
Fuck.
I don’t remember the last time masturbating made me feel so good.
Or so unsatisfied.
Shoving off the wall, I move under the spray and try to wash away the feeling of dissatisfaction. It doesn’t work.
And the more I think about what I just did—think about thewoman I imagined while doing it—the more I realize I’m in deep shit.
I was sure I didn’t like Cami Nelson. Her career is what I’ve avoided since I was a teenager. Getting close to her would be dangerous. Not for me—I’ve come to grips with the way I became a father and I wouldn’t change how Whit became mine for anything.
Whit is the innocent in all of this and while I’ve always thought I’d have to tell her about how she came to be eventually, I thought I’d wait until she was older.
Except she is older.
And if that scumbag reporter—or any other reporter—keeps digging, it won’t be hard to find out the name in the mother section of Whit’s birth certificate is fake.
Or that the name in the father section isn’t the one I was born with.
Cami
Offering my hand across the table to Deb I say, “We’ll talk later. Let me know how you go at work.”
“They’ll probably walk me out the door as soon as I hand in my resignation.”
“Then you’ll be able to work with me sooner.” I smile. “I’m really excited about this. I had no idea you had a degree in film.”
“I have multiple degrees. I thought I wanted to be in front of the camera but the more time I spent at FNB I changed my mind.”
“Listen, I’ve got a thing with the Rogues tonight. It’s a barbecue for the fans and I want to wander around asking random people questions as well as get some footage of the whole event. Feel like barbecue for dinner?”
