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I shrug do you? People mill closer. Take seats on the couch, at the table, on the ground.
"If you'd seen my dick, you'd know why." He steps forward to let someone pass. His hand brushes my arm. His chest brushes my shoulder. His crotch brushes my outer thigh.
My body responds with gusto.
Any sense of calm, of upper hand, of any hand, dissipates.
My body goes into overdrive. Every molecule screams the same thing: more Dean please.
A jock's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Damn, Maddox. Stop bragging. We're playing a game here." He pats a spot on the packed couch. It's all designer jeans and BCBG dresses and pretty girls in hot guy's laps.
I take a step backward, but there's nowhere to go. My ass hits the glass table.
Dean turns to his friend. "Should I whip it out instead?"
A girl sitting on the couch claps with glee. "Hell yeah!"
The five girls sitting on the ground clap with her.
"There's a demand." Dean shrugs, effortless. He reaches for his jeans. Pretends to undo his button. "I can't let my fans down."
"Save it for the game," the friend says.
A dozen awwws and no fairs bounce around the room.
Dean turns to me. Winks. "Fair is fair." He offers his hand. "Sit with me, sunshine."
He leads me to the couch. Rests his ass on its arm.
I stand next to him. Shift my weight between my feet. Tap my toes together. Listen to the hollow sound the synthetic leather makes.
His hand brushes my hip.
My body responds immediately.
My pulse races. My nipples perk. My sex clenches.
I want him touching me. I think about it all the time. Too much.
He's everything I hate.
He's someone I hate.
But I still want him touching me.
I still stroke myself to orgasm thinking about him every fucking night.
"Why don't you start, Romeo," Dean's friend calls.
Ooohs and ahhs bounce around the room with do its and Oh my Gods!
The room wants Dean.
The entire world wants Dean.
He wants…
Who knows what the hell the manwhore wants.
