He closed his eyes, and she came to him.
His dick grew harder. His fingers tightened, stroking back and forth, over his head and down his shaft, his palm rubbing along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. So good. So. Fucking. Good.
Would be even better if it were her hand working him. Her mouth sucking him off. Her pussy squeezing around him. Her ass stretching to let him in. God damn her ass. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Couldn’t stop fantasizing about her. Bent over. Exposed. Open. Waiting for him. Her sweet little cunt wet and ready to be fingered while he filled her from behind and fucked her into oblivion.
A groan rumbled from his chest and burst past his lips. Shit. She had him. Right there. On the edge. He could back off. Let the pleasure ebb and then rebuild. Prolong his orgasm until both his knees buckled, and he hit the floor. Except he couldn’t get the mental picture of her out of his brain.
Oh fuck. His balls constricted, his spine contracted, and his hips shot forward like he was about to unload two years of pent-up come into Summer’s willing body. His cock jerked, and he exploded, his semen hitting the wall and sliding down to the drain.
JesusfuckingChrist, have mercy.
She was killing him.
He hadn’t come that hard in forever.
His heart pounded, and the ache in his lungs as he struggled to breathe suggested he needed to work on his cardio before he made a move on his girl.
Wait. Full stop.
He wasn’t making a move on Summer. Hell, he wasn’t making a move on anyone. Between physio, work, and planning a new strategy to go after Johnson, he didn’t have time for a woman, never mind building a relationship.
Besides, he was an asshole, and she wasn’t his girl.
Not to mention, she was ten years younger than he was, Halia’s nanny, and his responsibility.
Big obstacles. Huge. Insurmountable.
Anyway, she deserved better. But fuck, the way she looked at him, like he was a Tootsie Roll Pop, and she had a craving to suck on some hard candy, made him wish their circumstances were different.
His dick twitched in happy agreement, and indulging the greedy bastard, he gave it a final tug to squeeze out the last bit of come. Hopefully, the relief lasted more than an hour. Unlikely, considering they’d be spending the morning together.
He grabbed the soap they shared and went to work with the wash down. Hair next, he ditched the bar and eyed the bottles of shampoo. His and hers. He reached for hers, and popping the top, he squeezed a small dollop into his palm and brought it to his nose for a sniff.
Yep. Smelled like her. A little. Not as good as the real deal. Summer had a scent that was all her own. Two parts baby powder, one part French vanilla, one part fruity shampoo. One hundred percent addictive. One hundred percent his.
Whoa. Nope. Scratch that last thought. She was not his. Could never be his. They’d spent the last week avoiding each other, eye fucking each other across the room, or arguing about her future with the JTT.
He wanted her and Halia stashed somewhere safe. Somewhere they could be happy. Somewhere they could live the life they wanted without having the threat of violence hanging over their heads.
Summer stubbornly refused to entertain the possibility he might be right, shutting him down whenever he tried to broach the subject. Last time he’d raised the issue, she threw her book at his chest and ordered him to leave the room.
Despite his crutches, he’d caught the well-read paperback before it hit the floor, and he’d kept it in retaliation. If she wanted it back, all she had to do was come and get it. He’d left it on the nightstand. The one on her side of his bed.
Days later, the book remained exactly where he’d put it.
God, she was stubborn. Then again, so was he.
Hair rinsed, he turned off the water, opened the door, and grabbed a towel. After a quick dry-off, he wrapped the thick cotton around his waist and jamming his crutches into his armpits, he stepped into the closet.
Left slightly ajar, the door to the nursery drew him. With the baby’s appointment scheduled for later this morning, Summer was probably waiting to get into the bathroom to use the shower herself.
About to knock, he drew up short, his fist an inch from ruining the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Summer. On her back. Eyes closed. Cheeks flushed. Her arm disappearing under the covers pushed down to her waist.
Fuck him.
He knew where her hand was. What her fingers were doing. The pleasure they were giving. Her back bowed, her chin lifted, and her lips opened on a silent moan. Perfection. Hot damn, he’d sell his soul to the devil to be the one to bring her to orgasm.
