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This shit doesn’t happen to me. But here I am, standing in my date’s bathroom, hating myself for being such a fucking loser.
I’ve never once had a problem performing, until now. I have a very willing woman in the next room, offering to suck my dick and allow me to fuck her until she passes out, but my dick doesn’t want a bar of it, and honestly, neither do I.
I can only imagine the shit Logan is going to say about this after the hard time I gave him when he broke his dick playing hockey earlier this year. Fuck, I went hard on him, unlike how my dick isn’t going hard on me right now.
After last week, seeing Bri starting to date again, it flicked a switch inside of me. If she’s trying to move on, then why shouldn’t I? It’s that very thinking that got me caught up in this situation in the first place—standing in a random woman’s bathroom, talking to my dick, and thinking about my ex.
Just fucking great.
I haven’t had sex since Cassie and Jax’s wedding with Bri in the guest bathroom, and believe me, I want to, but the thought of sleeping with another woman makes me feel nauseous. However, remembering that last time with Bri kind of helps my situation, picturing the way she was bent over at the hips and I slammed into her from behind. She grasped onto the wall to avoid hitting her head and used it to push back into me.
Fuck yeah. It was nothing short of magical. It always was with her. I grasp my dick as I picture that moment clear as day in my head, and just as I knew it would, my dick grows hard.
I go to step out of the bathroom, but realization hits me like a fucking wrecking ball. I’m about to fuck some strange woman while thinking about Bri. Before I met her, I never would have had a problem with something like that, never would have thought twice, but now it just seems so . . . wrong.
Fuck.
“Carter?” I hear from the other side of the door. “Is everything alright in there?”
Ugh. The sound of her needy voice has my cock deflating like a fucking balloon. Great, another night where I’ll go without having sex. What has my life come to? I guess I’ll be heading home to take care of business myself, just as I’ve been doing for the past five months. At this point, I’m gonna get calluses on my palms from how often I’ve been needing to rub one out, each time with Bri’s flawless body stuck in my head.
“Carter?” the woman questions again.
Damn it. How am I going to get out of here? If I go out there, that woman is going to maul me again, and I just can’t take it. Her hot breath on my mouth was putrid, and having her hands all over me made me feel desperate for a shower.
I mean no disrespect to the lady, I’m sure she’s a really nice woman when she isn’t trying to maul random men, but I just can’t do it. I’m clearly not ready.
Looking around the bathroom, I take in the small window above the toilet. The idea hits me like a freight train, but I’m going to have to be smart about this. It’s a small window and my clothes are in the bedroom. This isn’t gonna be pretty.
Eyeing the towel hanging over the shower, I consider using that and making a break for it, but then an image of me running up the street in nothing but a towel comes to mind, and I just can’t risk it.
I definitely would have done something like that in college, but I’m the CEO of a multi-million dollar construction company with my family name plastered all over it. Doing something so reckless is likely going to get me splashed all over the internet. I can’t put my company and my family through that kind of embarrassment. Not to mention, it’s not something I want Brianna to hear about.
Shit. I’m going to have to get my clothes and somehow walk out of this place with my dignity intact. Though considering my limp dick, I think I’ve already lost that dignity.
Not wanting this to go on another minute longer, I avoid my reflection in the mirror, too ashamed to even look at myself before creeping toward the bathroom door.
“Hey, uhh . . . love?” I call through the door, having no fucking clue what this woman’s name is.
I hear her move across her room and put herself right on the opposite side of the bathroom door. “Yes?” she asks far too eagerly.
“Could you grab me a glass of water? I’m not feeling so hot,” I lie.
“Oh, um sure,” she says, a slight hesitation in her tone. “Do you need some painkillers or anything like that?”
