He yanks his cell out of his pocket. “I’ll ring him now. Get the go ahead. He’ll give it to me.”
When he dials a number he knows by heart, I launch out of the cab to snatch his phone from his hand. “You can’t call him now! It’s 2 AM.”
I realize the error of my ways when Elvis flings a bundle of notes through the lowered passenger side window, slams the door I just dove through shut, then bangs on the roof of the taxi, signaling for the driver to leave.
He waits until the taxi’s taillights blur on the horizon before facing me. “Oh, jeez, would you look at that? It’s 2 AM. I don’t like your chances of getting a taxi willing to come out here this late at night.”
I give him the cutie pie face I used to give my dad seconds before causing trouble. “I guess it’s lucky my boyfriend doesn’t drink, so he has no excuse not to drive me home.” I prop my hip against his pricy ride before my eyes stray to Elvis.
He screws up his face. I don’t know what has him more worked up: me referring to him as my boyfriend or the honesty of my reply. He doesn’t drink. I haven’t seen him touch a drop of alcohol the past five weeks.
Tired of fighting a desire bigger than Elvis’s biceps, I give in to temptation. “Hands to yourself at all times. We can kiss, but no tongue.” He looks like he wants to protest, but I continue talking, foiling his attempt. “I can’t do tongue, E, because then I’ll want more. It’s a given. Just like neck kisses. Neck kisses turn into chest kisses. Chest kisses turn into kitty kisses, then kitty kisses turn in—”
“I get it.” He adjusts his crotch like he’s in pain. He’s not the only one. Just thinking about how many naughty things we could do behind closed doors has me panting.
Elvis’s eyes widen as he steps back. If I could see inside his head, I imagine there’d be a light bulb switching on. “Hands to myself, right?”
Even though I’m shocked by the eagerness in his voice, I still nod.
“Alright. Deal.”
Clasping my hand in his, he guides us into his condo. The sexual tension that forever radiates between us is still in abundance, but there’s an edge of excitement surrounding us. I have the same nervous butterflies I got every time I was waiting for the song to start when standing on a dark stage, but it’s stronger, almost palpable.
The reason behind my jitters comes to light when Elvis guides us straight up the spiral staircase separating his loft-like bedroom from the rest of his home. But he doesn’t move toward the bed to start our spooning escapades. He heads straight for the bathroom, the one big enough to fit us both at the same time without needing to share a showerhead. It has two.
“I’m not strong enough for this, E. I’m seconds away from throwing years of study down the toilet already. I can’t endure more temptation.”
He doesn’t answer me. He just steps into his master bathroom, turns on both of the showerheads full pelt, then commences stripping.Fuck the world. I’m not giving this up for anything.My hands instinctively dart out to trace his rock-hard abs. I’ll start there before following the trail of dark hair that flows from his belly button to the bulge even a lack of lighting can’t conceal.
Before I get within an inch of his stomach, Elvis slaps my hands away. “No touching, remember?”
My fingers itch to tiptoe over his skin when his pants are the next article of clothing he removes. He drags them down his muscular spread thighs before kicking them to the side. With his eyes locked on mine and mine locked on his sculptured chest, he tugs down his boxer shorts.
Good lord! Someone send up the medic. I’m going into coronary failure.
We’re standing so close, there’s barely an inch of air between me and his erect cock. If it weren’t for a ridiculously large set of udders, I’d fill the gap. . . before fillinganypart of my body with his painfully erect cock.
I stop staring at the veins pulsating through his manhood when Elvis murmurs, “Your turn.”
“Huh?” I raise my eyes from his cock to his face. Wetness pools between my legs when I see the predatory gleam in his eyes.
“Your turn,” he repeats, fully knowing I heard him the first time.
I hesitate. I could never be accused of being shy, but this is different. I’m wearing a cow suit, for crying out loud!
“Cows don’t bathe inside. They wait for it to rain.”
An absurdly large grin stretches across his face before he says, “Okay. Suit yourself.”
The noise that tears from my throat when he steps under the water is one I’ve never heard before. It isn’t the image of watering pelting down his gorgeous face before rolling down his glistening pecs causing my near stuttering state. It’s him fisting his cock in his big, manly hand.
“Hands tomyself, right?”
“Uh-huh.” I have no more words—not one.
After watching him glide his hand all the way to the tip and back to the base, I raise my eyes to his face. His parted lips and hooded eyes reveal he’s enjoying himself, but they’re missing the cocky gleam they held when we fooled around weeks ago.
I find out why when he murmurs, “This would be a lot more fun if you joined me.”
