“Can’t wait to meet you,” I whisper through a tightening throat.
“Me too, bee. Me too.” His sigh travels through my quiet living room. “Good night, beautiful.”
“Good night, Seb.”
I drag my carcass over to the bathroom, stripping as I go. I lose the shoes in the hallway, the dress pools to the floor on the carpet in my bedroom, and I step onto the cold tiles naked and shivering. Clearly I need to turn the thermostat higher. Or call Seb again.
The hot water quickly mists the bathroom as I pull my hair up in a bun. I really can’t deal with drying it right now, I’m so tired. In the shower, I aim the spray at my chest, moaning when my muscles instantly relax. I didn’t even realize how tense I was.
Water sluices over my breasts, down my stomach, dripping off my mound onto the tiles. It tickles, awakening my senses, but it’s nowhere near enough to feel pleasurable. I grab my cotton candy shower cream, lather a dollop up in my hands, and soap up my armpits, stomach, arms, breasts… I can’t help tugging on my nipples. When my pussy clenches in answer, I let loose a moan that echoes off the tiles.
I chew on my lower lip, debating. But I guess nothing helps a girl sleep like a hot shower and an orgasm, so I let a hand roam down, over the curve of my stomach, and between my thighs. My eyes close when I find myself slick and hot.
Time for a thorough wash.
I take the showerhead off the wall mount, turn the lever until the spray is firmer, more concentrated, and bring it to my pussy. When the stream hits my already sensitive clit, I brace my arm on the wall and let my head rest on my forearm.
So fucking good.
Like any self-respecting woman, I have several toys, each vying for the title of being my favorite. But there’s something about the showerhead. I always get off within seconds. I barely start thinking of the sounds Seb made when we had phone sex the other night, and I’ve almost reached the brink.
My thighs are already shaking, my breathing growing deep and raspy, and I’m fighting the urge to move my hips like I want to hump the stream bringing me so much pleasure. Nerve endings sparkle to life, like they did a few hours earlier, when Ethan’s fingertips were just barely touching me.
What if I’d just let him continue? Would he make me come right there? Right next to Emily and Killian? Where anyone could see or hear, or suspect?
If I reached over, would I have found him hard and throbbing in those indecently flattering suit pants? Would he let me wrap my hand around his dick, stroke him under the table, under his friends’ noses? Would he come for me?
“Oh god,” I moan at the thought. “I’m gonna come… I’m gonna come… God. Ethan!”
8
ETHAN
“Oh, fffffuuuuuuck!” I growl, my fist practically strangling my cock. My other hand is holding my phone up to my nose, like I could smell Barbara’s delicious pussy through the camera feed. Her head’s thrown back, her legs are shaking, she’s moaning and gasping. Gaspingmy name. Mine. Not “Sebastian’s”.
“Mine!” I shout as my pleasure detonates in my dick, my back bowing off the mattress. “You’re fucking mine,” I add with a groan. Cum shoots in the air and splatters over my fist, but I still don’t stop stroking, not until Barbara comes down from her orgasm, not until every glide of my hand makes squelching sounds that I pretend are the sounds of me fucking her, fucking what’s mine.
We’re both breathing hard, me in my bed, her in the shower in her apartment. She doesn’t know that I’m with her. I want so bad to tell her I heard her moan my name as she was coming. But I can’t. She’d despise me. Barbara will never know how much I violated her privacy, how I got off on it repeatedly.
I’m with her when she steps out and takes a towel with trembling fingers. I’m with her when she pulls on panties, fuzzy pajamas, and shuffles into her bed and under the covers. AndI’m with her when her breathing turns slow and even, lulling me to sleep.
The next day, I’m woken up by fabric hitting my face.
“Put some clothes on, you fucking pervert,” Killian growls.
I blink at my friend, ignoring my naked state and the dried cum on my trimmed short-and-curlies.
“I’m revoking your access,” I groan. “Why the fuck are you even here? Shouldn’t you be fucking your bride-to-be?”
“The alert you set up for Zhao’s private jets went off. He’s here.”
“Ah, shit,” I hiss, scrambling for my phone. I tap the screen when it doesn’t light up automatically, then press the button on the side. Nothing. “Battery died,” I mumble. Probably best not to tell him it died because I was perving on Barbara half of the night. I place it on the wireless charging pad.
“Christ,” Killian grumbles when I get up and walk to my bathroom without bothering to put on the boxers he threw at me. Why would I do that when I’d take them off after five seconds?
I relieve myself and jump in the shower, not bothering to wait for it to warm up. My dick is just waking up for its first performance anyway—the cold water will help subdue it, because I’mnotjerking off when Cross is waiting a few feet away.
When I towel off and put on a fresh pair of sweats, Killian is already waiting at my desk, and there’s a coffee next to my main keyboard.
