Faster than the train can leave the station, I yank my cell phone out of my pocket and log into the Matched app. I haven’t used it in years, but a reason for Rye knowing my username is unearthed when I spot a list of recent visitors to the site. SummerNights23 was active only hours ago, and her updated profile picture is causing quite the stir. She’s getting profile views left, right, and center, but there’s still only one profile she’s matched with.
Mine.
I’d be a lying prick if I said I wasn’t stoked about that.
The smugness it swells my chest with is still puffing out my pecs when I enter the suite I share with Summer almost an hour later. Unlike yesterday afternoon, the space is dead quiet—so quiet, I step back to make sure I don’t have the wrong room.
“Summer…” I call out when the room number matches the one on the bill Isaac Holt is footing to ensure my time at Ravenshoe is pleasant.
I dump my training bag and cleats by the entryway when Summer replies, “I’m in the bathroom.”
She greets me with a broad grin when I enter the steam-filled space with my hand held above my eyes like I’m not hoping like fuck she’s naked.
She is, but regretfully, the bubbles in the bathtub hide her scrumptious body from view.
“Did Daddy make it to the train station on time?”
“He did.” I balance my ass on the edge of the tub like I have numerous times the past three weeks. “And with only one threat issued, I’m a little disappointed.”
She laughs. “I’m sure he’ll make up for it soon.”
I have no doubt about this when she stands from the tub without warning. A handful of determined bubbles gives her some coverage, but my fucking god, there’s a heap of skin without a snippet of suds attached to them, and believe me, my eyes devour every single inch of her to make sure.
If I were a cartoon, my tongue would be rolling across the floor. That’s how enticing Summer’s body is. Even with her downing carbs like she’s one of my teammates, her thighs and hips are a little toner due to the hours we spend at the beach each day, and you could surf on her stomach. Her tits are still that perfect C-cup handful size, and now that her deliciously fragrant pussy isn’t covered by a mass of thin blonde hairs, I can confidently declare virginity can be reclaimed when the man who’s claiming it doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“Lennox?” Summer murmurs, her voice more husky than usual.
I swallow to relieve my suddenly parched throat before replying, “Yeah.”
With how hard my cock is right now, this is the last thing I’m anticipating for her to say, “Can you pass me a towel?”
“A what now?”
“A towel.” My dick leaks pre-cum when she smiles a teasing grin before pointing behind my left shoulder. “So I can get dry.”
I’d rather you stay wet, I want to murmur, but since our agreement three years ago is ringing in my head, I don’t. “Sure. A towel. Here you go.”
I really shouldn’t have abstained from sex for so long.
It clearly makes me stupid.
“I’ll wait for you out there.” I point to the main part of our room before tripping over my feet in a dorky you’re-a-fucking-nerd way.
I’ve barely had a chat with my cock about getting with the program when Summer enters the room. She’s covered more now than she was moments ago, but only just. The towel I handed her is tiny—so tiny, if she were to bend the wrong way, I’d have a bird’s eye view of her pussy.
“What?” I push out when Summer waves her hand in front of her face, stealing me from my thoughts.
I nod when she asks, “Are you okay?” She places her hand on my forehead to check for a temperature. “Are you sure? You seem a little nervous.”
“Me nervous? Never.” I scan the room, seeking the dweeb who answered her question on my behalf. My balls make plans to shrivel up and die when I realize I’m the only person in the room with her. “I’m just a bit stiff from training. It was hot out there today.”
“Even more reason for you to get on the bed as asked.”
I shift on my feet to face Summer, who’s gathering a bottle of massage oil out of a bag of goodies on the bedside table. “What am I getting on the bed for?”
My cock thickens like she replies she wants to suck it when she answers, “For your massage, silly. We’ve done the same thing every day for weeks.”
“Yeah, but not since…” When my arched brow doesn’t finalize my question on my behalf, I nudge my head to the section of her body my eyes are continually straying to in the hope of a sneaky peek.
