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He opens his eyes then pushes up, reaches for my face, and says, “Kiss me.”

A rush of bliss shoots down my back. I’m tingling everywhere as we screw and kiss. Our sex turns frantic, and our kissing becomes messier.

Ravenous, I come in for another hungry kiss as I bury my dick deeper, but he pulls away, pleading with, “Need to come.”

That unbridled excitement I felt earlier reappears, charging through me like a stampede, this thrill I only seem to experience with him.

And I don’t want this to end.

“Soon, baby, soon,” I urge as I slow down and get a hand between us to grip his shaft.

I stroke him but not too fast. “I don’t want this to end,” I tell him.

“Me neither,” he murmurs.

I show him with my body how much I want to keep going, moving, doing.

With languid thrusts, I stay here in this heady moment of fucking my friend, of bringing him to the brink, then making him wait for it.

Making him wait for me.

A twist of my wrist.

A turn of my hand.

Then one more kiss on his gorgeous mouth.

“Come for me now,” I whisper against him, then rise up. Giving him a deep thrust, and a quickened pace of my hand, I stroke his cock till he’s gasping and spilling all over his stomach.

I’m nearly there too, still pumping into him as he shudders. Quickly though, he opens his eyes so he can utter a needy, “On me.”

I want that more than I ever have before. I pull out, rip off the condom, then shuttle my fist over him, gazing at his face the whole damn time as I reach the edge then shoot all over him.

All over us.

Tanner Sloan’s a hot, sticky mess. He’s also the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Maybe sexier when he takes my hand and presses it to his abs. Together, we spread the evidence of us all over him.




His shower is bigger than mine, and I am both jealous and grateful. Grateful because it gives me something to tease him about when I desperately need some levity after the most intense sex of my life. Jealous because, well, it’s a palace.

I gawk at the earth-toned tiles, the double showerheads, and the sheer square footage. “I could live in your shower. Hell, you could sublease this shower as a studio,” I say as we easily navigate the rainfall in this steamy paradise.

“I’ll have my real estate broker get on that right away,” he says as he dips his head under the hot stream.

Shame. I liked the way his sweaty hair smelled.

I whimper. “I’m sad.”

“Why?” he asks as he wets his hair.

“Because you’re washing all the sex off your body,” I say with a pout.

Laughing, he lifts his face. “You wanted me to sleep with your jizz on me, then wake up with it caked on my skin?”

“Our jizz, baby,” I correct as I reach out a hand and slide it down the grooves of his abs. “You looked so hot with us all over your cum gutters.”

A laugh bursts from him. “You’re so classy, Remington.”

I smile, and it doesn’t vanish when he turns away to reach for the shampoo on the shower shelf. I feel warm but it’s not from the epic sex or the temperature. I’ve never laughed like this post-sex. I’ve never wanted to joke and play and tease and shower with someone again and again.

He pours the shampoo into his hand and runs it over his wet hair, and here’s one more—I’ve never wanted to wash someone’s hair.

Till now.

“Let me do it,” I say softly.

Tanner glances back at me, question marks in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I want to,” I say, swallowing past a strange knot in my throat. Some weird new feeling. “Lean your head back.”

He complies and I run my fingers through his hair, longer than it was earlier in the year. “I like this messy look you’ve been working.”

“Good. That’s why I haven’t cut it for a few months,” he says.

“For me?” I croak, kind of hoping he says yes.

Tanner shakes his head as I roam my fingers through his lathered-up locks. “Just because…guys like it,” he says.

Fuck that. I dig my jealous fingers into his skull. “Don’t talk about other guys,” I say sharply, surprised by the intensity of my reaction.

Gently, he peels my fingers off his head, then wheels around. His lips are a ruler as he says in a challenging tone, “Why?”

I grit my teeth, trying to hold back, but failing. “Because I don’t like it,” I admit, and I’m evidently not done. I didn’t come into this shower to do anything but clean up and lighten the mood, but impulsively I’m blurting out, “And because I like your hair.”

“Then finish washing it,” he hisses with a tilt of his chin.

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