I stride inside the house and see that Avery’s bedroom door is shut. I stare at it, willing him to come out. I end up standing there for far too long, looking like a creep, so instead, I just move into my room and peel myself out of my clothes. And then I stand for a long time in the shower, having too many shower thoughts. Sometimes those are amazing and sometimes they just make me spiral.
By the time I exit, my skin is red from the hot water and I feel worse.
I shouldn’t have thought about it so much—about what this all means and where to go from here.
I stare at my distorted face in the fogged-up mirror and sigh.
I can’t put this off any longer. I need this resolved. I cannot sleep on this. I need to know how Avery feels about all of this—about me. I need to know how he wants to move forward.
I pull on some pants, and then a shirt because I don’t want him to be uncomfortable, and move toward his room. The door is still closed, and I eye it. God, why am I so damn nervous?
I reach out and knock, the sound almost deafening in the small space.
“Come in,” Avery says, and I push the door open, seeing him lying on the bed. He’s still in the clothes he wore to work. That skirt and short top—both are riding up his body, exposing delicious amounts of skin to me. Far too much skin.
My mouth goes dry.
He turns his head, our eyes clashing, and I let out a shuddering breath.
“I guess we have to talk, huh?” he asks but doesn’t move from his spot on the bed and it’s driving me crazy.
I can see far too much of him, and damn, it’s not enough. I want to seemore.
“We should,” I manage to say, and he sighs, stretching his arms up to his head and folding them over his eyes.
And my dick can’t handle it. It’s like a slow striptease, and my cock is trying to sneak a peek. It’s hard and pressed out at the front of my sweatpants. There is nothing I can do to hide it.
If Avery looks this way, he’ll see it.
God, look at me. See what you’re doing to me.
“Do you regret it?” he asks softly, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“No.”
He peeks out at me from under his arm, and I know when he sees it—my hard length pushing out toward him.
“Oh,” he whispers, and I just stand there in his room, staring at him, wanting to move toward him, wanting to run my hands across his skin.
He has to want that too? Right? He was begging for it at work with the way he arched toward me, how he angled his ass in my direction.
His arms fall to his sides and he sits up, his skirt still ridiculously high up on his thighs.
My mind is right back to where it’s been all day. What’s underneath?
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, and then he parts his legs. My entire body suddenly bursts into flames.
“Fuck,” I murmur, and Avery’s hand slides up his thigh, pulling that skirt higher and higher until I can’t fucking breathe. I feel almost lightheaded and my dick is leaking.
There has to be a wet spot on the front of my sweatpants. There is no way he’d miss that.
Avery turns around on the bed, getting on all fours, his ass up in the air, and I can’t do anything but move toward him. His skirt is stretching across his upper thighs, so close to his ass cheeks. I step between his parted legs and reach down, pulling the skirt up until it’s bunched at his waist.
And there is nothing there.
Nothing.
Just soft, bare skin.
