AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I pulled out my mobile and flicked through the numbers I’d stored. It would be so easy to call her. To say I missed her. That would be enough. All I wanted was to hear her voice.
Slowly, I set down the phone.
No. I wouldn’t do that to her. To me. She’d made her decision, and it was for the best for her.
I was still learning to be the kind of man worthy of being at her side. But I was getting closer, slip tonight aside.
Forget slip. Skid? Crash? Whatever.
After I pulled off my cap, I fisted a handful of my clammy shirt behind my head. I tugged it off and stripped off the rest of my clothes. Then I turned on the water as cold as I could stand and stepped under the spray.
Damn, that felt good.
So did reaching down to palm my cock. I didn’t think about it consciously. Zoe was in my head, and I needed to find some relief. I couldn’t call her. Couldn’t make it worse for her.
Just like I might be doing by posting those Matilda pictures. Which I needed to stop.
Fuck, figuring out how to be a decent human was hard.
I braced my arm against the tile wall and pressed my forehead to the bunched muscles of my forearm. My dick
was too hard. It’d been too long since I’d touched myself. Even that was a memory of Zoe. Experiencing pleasure—no matter how paltry—without her felt wrong. But I had to find a way to get her out of my head.
Tightening my hold, I worked my shaft, bathing it in the mountain man shower gel Flynn used. Bubbles foamed and I kept my hand moving, my grip relentless. This wouldn’t take long. I didn’t want it to. It was simply about the destination.
Pictures still formed behind my eyes. I didn’t want them, but they appeared anyway. Zoe on the couch that first night as I pried open her legs and tasted her pussy. Her soft cries before her hands turned greedy and she laced her fingers through my hair to bring me where she needed. How responsive she was that first time. Every time. Her arms winding around me, her legs curling tight, her pussy so hot and snug. Yet her kisses were always so sweet. Laughter had danced in her eyes and I’d ached to be gentle. To give her more than the wild, bruising fuck she seemed satisfied with.
She deserved the world.
With a couple of rough jerks on my length, the pressure inside me exploded. Warmth filled my hand before the cold stream of water washed my fingers clean. Even as I caught my breath, the pleasure was already draining away.
I dropped my head back and soaped up and rinsed off as fast as possible. I didn’t want to mess with my hair, so I gave it a quick shampoo and wondered when I’d gotten soft enough to miss my conditioner, tucked away in my travel case.
Fuck, was I really worried about my hair? When my whole goddamn world had gone to shit?
That wasn’t going to be a factor any longer.
I climbed out and dried off. Yanking open the medicine cabinet, I rooted around until I found a small first aid kit. The scissors weren’t made for this, that was for damn sure. But it was just hair. I was more than some pretty boy. I was a singer. A musician. My talent was more important than my looks.
Or it would be.
Taking a deep breath, I started to cut. And cut. I kept going as hair fell into the sink and landed on my bare feet. It got easier the more I chopped off. I wasn’t sure I was cutting evenly, and the shit was curling even more as it got shorter, but I already felt lighter.
Freer.
After I finally rinsed off the scissors and put them away, I took a good look.
Yeah, I had not cut it evenly. I would not be becoming a hairdresser anytime soon.
But I still had some length left. It wasn’t as if I’d gone short. It still skimmed my shoulders.
Almost.
My mum had been all about me never cutting my hair, and I’d gotten too used to it. Time to change things up.
I pushed a hand through the curls and they settled into a semblance of a style. Sort of. Whatever. Worked for me.
Now I needed a broom.
