Right.
Then why the fuck does this feel so wrong?
Shutting down my inner monologue for a more appropriate time, I leave the scarcely lit parking lot, scanning up and down the street. Traffic isn’t an issue. Since I’m on the outskirts of town, the usually densely packed roads are quiet. I’m just struggling to choose which road to take. The high one? Or the low one?
“Ah, fuck it,” I grumble to myself, taking a left.
I’m taking the high road. I don’t care that Savannah is back in town. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. She has her life, and I have mine—no misconception whatsoever. My body reacted like every man’s body does when confronted by an old mate. Men are naturally promiscuous; we tend to think with our lower head before using the more controlled, smart one on our shoulders. My reaction was completely normal and wholly anticipated. If my cock hadn’t responded the way it did, I would be worried.
I’m normal.
I’m a grown man.
I’m not thinking about Savannah Fontane’s plump lips wrapped around my cock.
Growling at the amount of lies I’m pumping out tonight, I guide my car into the underground garage of my apartment building faster than usual. The grinding of the metal frame is barely heard over my tires skimming across the concrete from me slamming on my brakes.
While clambering out of my vehicle, I smirk to myself, wondering how many “hoon” calls the department will receive after my effort. Needing to rid myself of the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I throw open the emergency exit stairwell next to the slick new elevator to begin my fifty-eight-story ascent. I’ve got nowhere to be and no one to impress, so arriving at my apartment covered in sweat won’t affect anyone but me and my hot water bill.
By the time I’m walking into my recently purchased apartment, my muscles are aching and I’m sweating profusely. With my brain working overtime to command my lungs to breathe, you’d think it would be clear of thoughts. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case.
Even without much air in my lungs, there is enough for me to huff in annoyance.Shedoesn’t deserve my thoughts.Sheleft of her own choice, then married some twat-waffle who thinks gold paintwork makes his already overpriced ride look more expensive.Sheisn’t my problem.
I doubt I’ve entered Savannah’s mind the past ten years, so why the fuck am I killing myself to wipe her from mine?
Grumbling, I make my way through my dark apartment, shredding my clothes on the way. This is one of the many good things about living alone: no one nags me when I leave my smelly socks on the kitchen counter. Not that I’ve done that. But I could, if I want to.
While waiting for the shower water to reach scalding, I toe off my shoes then tackle my belt. My heavy breaths switch to frustrated grunts when I slide my trousers down my aching thighs. I’m still hard enough to bounce a nickel off. If I weren’t conscious of keeping my drinks in my line of sight, I’d be suspicious Brax slipped Viagra into my whiskey. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. He is the reason I rarely drink in public anymore.
I spent the entire night of New Year’s Eve last year sitting in a booth at the Dungeon Nightclub like a noob. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to accept the numerous offers to dance; I just didn’t want to explain why my pants were pitching a tent. If I had my gun, I would have shot Brax that night. I’d never been more humiliated in my life.
Well, except once.
But since I’m not thinking about her, I’ll leave that little nugget on the back burner.
Steam billows around me when I step into my upright shower. The scorching hot water is a godsend to my overworked muscles. I’ve just finished my seventeenth shift in a row. I am beyond exhausted. I had planned to spend my five-day weekend watching baseball in my sweats while consuming my weight in sugar. I never planned to exhaust my muscles to the point of Jell-O. I’m shocked I can stand with how much my thighs are shaking.
The painful situation between my legs becomes more apparent when I run a suds-loaded shower puff down my body. I stare down at my erect cock, impressed by its determination, but pissed by its lack of morals.
“She didn’t just walk out on me. She left you high and dry too, bud.”
After scrubbing my thighs clean, I return the shower puff to my midsection. My scrubs are a little harder than necessary, but so the fuck is my cock. It is extended well past the bumps in my midsection, announcing that thissituationisn’t going to take care of itself. . .
Fuck it. I’m a man. I can take care of business if needed. I don’t need anyone or anything. I’ve got everything I need right here.
After curling my hand around my rock-hard shaft, I glance over my shoulder. I don’t know who I’m looking for? I’ve lived alone the past five years. But since it’s been even longer since I’ve fondled my cock,I want to ensure there are no witnesses.
Confident I am alone, I glide my hand down my shaft. A pleasing zap shoots through the vein feeding my throbbing member. This should feel wrong on so many levels, but it doesn’t. It’s too relieving to resemble anything less than pleasure.
I’m not stroking my cock because I can’t get Savannah out of my mind. I’m doing it to ease my confusion. Until I tackle the reason for the lack of blood to my brain, I’ll have no chance of working through my turmoil. This isn’t about pleasure; it is about wit.
Yeah, right.
While increasing the speed of my pumps, I close my eyes and part my lips. The suds from the shower gel have eased the friction, leaving nothing but a smooth, silky glide. My heavy pants add to the steamy conditions when I scan my memory bank, seeking inspiration for my relief. I have plenty to work with. Not only were the women at Vipers barely clothed, they were beautiful. Exotic. Intoxicating.
Blonde with entrancing green eyes.
I grip my cock harder, punishing it for my mind’s drift in focus. I will not think about her and her puffy lips, cock-thickening eyes, and body that could bring mere mortals to their knees.
