She’s on her knees in front of me as water cascades down her bare shoulders, and she looks up at me with those big, dark, intoxicating eyes. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip before opening her mouth and leaning forward like she’s been dying for this moment.
The image alone nearly brings me to my fucking knees.
Her soft hands brace against my thighs, her fingers digging in as her lips wrap around the head of my cock, and a rough groan tears from my chest.
This isn’t some gentle fantasy. It’s Honey—the girl who’s been driving me insane since the moment she walked into my life—sucking me like she owns every inch of me. Shedoesown every inch of me. Her tongue swirls around the tip with teasing, deliberate strokes, tasting me, savoring me, before she takes me deeper into that perfect mouth.
I tighten my grip and start stroking harder, matching the rhythm she’s using in my head. My free hand slips on the tile, but I keep my footing. I’m too distracted with my thoughts to care. In my mind, she’s taking me farther into her mouth with every bob of her head, and her cheeks hollow as she sucks me like she’s trying to pull an orgasm straight from my soul.
“Fuck, Honey—” I growl under the spray of water.
I can picture the way her tits would bounce slightly with each movement, water streaming down her curves, her nipples hard from the heat and arousal. She’d moan around my cock, the vibration shooting straight through me, pushing me closer to the edge. She’d take me deep, her throat working me, all the while never breaking eye contact—daring me to lose control and come for her.
My hand moves faster. The water runs down my back as the pressure builds, tightening low in my gut.
With a deep, guttural groan that echoes off the tiles, I come hard. Thick ropes spill over my fist as my cock pulses, and my legs nearly buckle beneath me. I brace my forearm arm against the wall, breathing hard as the water washes everything away.
The relief I feel is short-lived, because the second the haze clears, I remember the almost-kiss, and the look on her face when she ran.
“This girl is going to be the fucking death of me,” I mutter under my breath.
I finish the shower, shut the water off, and stand there for a second, taking it all in.
Steam clings to the glass; my chest is still heaving.
I still feel like shit because no amount of cold showers or self-inflicted shame is going to change the fact that Honey is still next door, stubbornly ignoring what is right in front of her.
I drag a towel around my waist and step out of the shower, wiping a hand over the fogged mirror as I pass.
Oh, surprise, surprise.
I look as shitty as I feel inside.
I brush my teeth mostly because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t knocking on Honey’s door again. Then I grab a pair of sweats and pull them on low over my hips before walking barefoot into the cabin room.
Since the shower finally took the edge off—and because if I think about Honey for one more second, I’m going to end up arrested—I decide it’s probably time to acknowledge the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, the rest of my life comes with email notifications and contracts that I can’t avoid.
I drop onto the couch, grab my phone, and scroll through the messages.
Twenty-three unread emails.
Fuck me.
Three from the Rome Raptors front office with playbook updates, OTA schedules, and some team-building thing in a week that I’m definitely going to miss since I’m on this cruise. Not that I care. Honey is more important. There’s an email from Coach Masters with the subject lineCheck in when you get a chance.Oh, he’s pissed. That’s coach language forWhere the hell are you, Evans? Get your ass here now.
There are also two from Dave, my agent. That’s when I know I’m in trouble.
Dave doesn’t panic. He’s more into showing off his expansive client list than worrying about what they are doing from day to day.
One of the subject lines is in full caps.
Fantastic.
I open it.
Zach,
