‘Do you like me on my knees for you?’
I can only nod. My chest heaves and my heart races. Excitement moves through me, filling me.
I fucking need to get off… again. This is like the fourth time since the elevator. I lift my ass and slide my underwear off, tossing them on the floor. I fumble in the dark, seeking the handle of the drawer in the nightstand. I finally manage to open it and take out the lube. One squirt into my hand, and it’s right back on my cock.
I wrap my fingers around my shaft and languidly stroke. I savor the feel of my hand caressing my length. When my fantasymorphs into Jett swallowing my cock to the root, I move faster, tightening my grip.
‘Yeah, like that. More,’ I tell him.
I slide my thumb into his mouth as he bobs his head. His tongue caresses the tip of my cock and my finger. It’s smooth and warm.
His eyes haven’t left mine, which is fucking hot. His nearly black eyes tell me he wants this as much as I do.
His other hand roams and explores, moving across my thigh to my ass.
My hand is moving faster now. The wet, slapping noise fills the air. My body is burning in the best way. Pressure surrounds me. I pulse and leak.
When Jett slips his finger in my crease and rubs on my rim, I blow all over myself.
“Oh, fuck!” I cry out.
I stroke myself through the aftermath, small shocks coursing through my body.
I’ve had a lot of orgasms over the years, some more powerful than others, but when Jett gets me off? It’s on a whole other level. I know why. It’s just different. Probably.
The fan quickly cools the cum on my skin, and I shiver. I grab the wipes stashed in my nightstand and clean myself up. I toss them into the trash can near my bed, but they land on the floor.
Eh, I’ll deal with it in the morning.
I pull the covers over me now that I’m cold and roll onto my side again. When I yawn, I know I’ll finally get some sleep.
It’s been five days since I’ve seen Jett. Not since the now infamous elevator incident. Infamous because I can’t stopfucking thinking about Jared ‘Jett’ Cordier every single time I’m in there.
I’m in the locker room after an especially long run. 8k. It did wonders clearing my head, but not so much for my body. I haven’t run that far since undergrad. My legs are shaky and weak, but the pain will kick in soon.
Before a shower, I chug some tart cherry juice to reduce muscle pain, then have a protein shake to replenish amino acids.
I yank off my soaked T-shirt, then my running shorts, and shove them into a plastic bag, leaving me in my underwear. I zip it up so they don’t stink up my gym bag.
“Hey,” says a tentative voice behind me. A voice that even my nuts recognize. I look down at said nuts and internally scold them to behave.
I turn around just as Jett removes his tank top. He keeps his eyes averted, his body stiff in an ‘I’m seriously feeling awkward right now’ way.
“Hey,” I say back.
Is he standoffish because he’s changed his mind? Doesn’t he want more from me after all? I hope not. My stomach dips at the thought. Yep, I’m totally on board with whatever this is between us.
I lean against the locker and fold my arms, doing my best to appear nonchalant. “Have you been avoiding me? We go one week of bumping constantly into each other and the following week, not a peep.”
He glances at me under thick lashes. Where did that dominance and confidence go?
Jett stands straight and rubs his neck. “Yeah, I ah, have been busy. Spent some time at my sister’s.”
“Ah, the one with the kids and the drawing? So, you’re not avoiding me?”
He gives me a slight shrug. “Maybe a little.”
Those dark eyes scan me up and down, then land right on my chest before he averts them again.
