The look of concentration on Griff’s face as his tongue peeks out makes me chuckle. Dakota looks back, shaking her head and lightly elbowing me in the ribs when my chuckles get louder.
“Ouch!” I double over in laughter. “Sorry, I can’t help it. His fingers are visibly shaking.”
Griff scoffs at me. “You’d be visibly shaking too if you were about to propose to the love of your life and you wanted to ensure everything was perfect without ruining the surprise.”
“Alright, you’ve got me there. Just take a deep breath, G. Like I said, she will say yes. And if I know my twin, she will love the surprise you’ve come up with. Doesn’t she think the surprise is the fact that you purchased a cabin up at the lake?”
“I’m not sure. I’m a little shaken up because right before Little Ray woke up from her nap, I asked Kenna if she’d move in with me permanently. She didn’t get a chance to answer me before I had to grab Cadence.”
“She’s going to say yes to all of the above, man. Don’t worry so much,” I tell him, even as my chest tightens just thinking about how alone I’ll feel without them here with me. Sure, Dakota lives with me now. But what if she decides I’m too much? I mean, she said she wanted to get on her feet and then get her own place when she could. I wish I could make her see we could remain roommates, even though I’d be extending this sexual torture.
“The ponytails are done. Now, how do I get them into buns?” Griff asks.
“Those look great!” Dakota cheers.
“Yeah, they’re surprisingly even too.”
Dakota tries to elbow me again, but I dodge out of the way and grab her waist, tickling her so she bends over. And right as she does, her perfectly toned and round ass makes direct contact with my semi-hard dick. As if we’re both in complete disbelief, we remain there frozen—her ass against my cock—the only movement is my hands tightening their hold on her waist.
Fuck. This feels too good to be true. Friends. We’re friends. Move, fucker.
I take a large step back and turn around while Dakota finishes explaining how to make two buns to Griff. When she’s done, I try to subtly adjust myself before turning back around.
Dakota sounds breathless, her chest rising and falling, causing me to look down at her pebbled nipples that peek through the fabric of her workout top. I want nothing more than to take them in my mouth.
Just a taste.
“Here,” she holds the phone out to me. Her voice is both raspy and trembling—that alone could be my undoing.
“Thanks.” I pocket my phone before taking her in again. “What were you doing when I knocked?”
“Yoga,” she squeaks, then drags her tongue across her lips, wetting them.
I would give anything to bite down on her plump bottom one.
“Yoga?” I question.
“Yep. And meditation. It’s so good for you. We should try it sometime during the off-season. Alright, I’ve got to get back to it. And pack. You said to pack a bag in case, right?”
“I did.” I don’t believe for one second that I didn’t interrupt her self-love session. But I’ll let her think I believe her excuse. “I’ve got to finish packing too,” I say as I move toward the door.
When I reach the hallway, I turn to grab my door handle. “I’ll lock it, just in case your yoga session gets a little heated and you can’t resist temptation.” I wink as the click of the lock sounds.
Once it’s closed, I rest my forehead against her door and try to picture what Austen would look like with her legs spread, fingers dipping into her drenched pussy, and bare body on display.
That scene I’ve conjured up continues to play out in my mind as I start my shower. I should feel wrong for doing this, but I don’t as I begin stroking myself to images of her. In no time, I’m greedily pumping my cock to thoughts of Dakota in the shower with me, only she’s on her knees, and those plump lips are sucking the soul from my body. It doesn’t take much before I’m groaning her name as I come against the tiled wall of my shower. Black spots dot my vision, and my chest heaves like I’ve just got off the ice from a two-minute shift.
Living across the hall from Dakota Meyer may very well be the death of me.
Dakota
I’ve never been more frustrated in my life—sexually, that is.
I’m broken. I know this, my therapist knows it too because she and I have discussed it at length.
I can’t come. And I’ve tried. Oh, trust me, I’vetried. My bedside drawer has two new additions that I thought would for sure do the trick, but nope. Not even a whisper of an orgasm.
After seeing Carson come into my room in a pair of those damn five-inch inseam athletic shorts he teased me about a few months back, and feeling his hard body pressed against my ass—I’m wetter and needier than I’ve ever been. And yet, I still can’t come.
