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I turn to Layla who is lingering by the door. “Morning, fiancée. How’d you sleep?”
Layla rolls her pretty eyes at me, following me back out into the hall. “Like crap, but I suppose I should start getting used to no sleep now.”
“One of the many joys of becoming a doctor. Did you need to get in the shower?”
She gives me a look, her gaze dropping to my chest, and then immediately returning to my face. “We’re going to have to figure all this out, aren’t we?”
“You mean not showering together when we both need one?”
“Yes.” She licks her lips, flashing me that damn barbell I’m just a little obsessed with. Her gaze dips down once again to my chest and I hold in my smirk.
“Problem?”
“You… uh.” She waves a finger around at me. “You don’t wear a shirt when you work out.”
It’s a statement and not a question, but I answer her anyway because it’s too good to resist. “No. Is that a problem for you?”
She clears her throat and looks away. “Nope. Your house and all.”
“You can look. Looking isn’t touching. You think I’m hot. No shame in that.”
She emits a self-deprecating laugh. “Shut up. I’m just not used to this. I lived with Patrick for like six months and it was different.”
I brush some of her long bangs back from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I have four full bathrooms in this house and a huge hot water tank. Shower wherever, whenever you like. If you want me to start wearing a shirt when I work out, I will. I want you to be comfortable here, Layla. I know this is awkward, and yes, we’ll have an adjustment period, but please, don’t walk on eggshells, and don’t skulk around me. Make it your home as best you can. The only thing I asked for is that your stuff stays in my room and that’s where you sleep because I don’t want it to be obvious the other bedroom is being used.”
“I know and as you said, I’ll adjust. I sort of want to pierce your nipples but that’s my own thing and I’ll get over it.”
I laugh. “As much as I love the idea of you thinking about my nipples, I’m not sure I’m a pierced nipples sort of guy. If that’s what you’re into then Lenox is more your man, but if you touch my friend, I’ll be forced to kill him, and I love him like a brother.”
“Noted. No screwing your friends.” She takes a step backward, and then another, but her eyes are still all over me. “That goes tenfold for you, fiancé. It appears as if we’re both the jealous types. I’m going to shower. In your guest shower.”
“I’m going to shower. In my shower.”
She smirks. “Don’t think about me when you’re in there.”
I smile like a bastard. “Same goes for you.”
“Pfft.” She rolls her eyes. “As if.”
She spins around and heads toward the bathroom and I do the same, already running a few minutes late now. But that doesn’t stop me from stripping down and automatically picturing Layla naked, wet, and soapy in the shower with me. My cock has been hard since the moment she looked at my chest like she wanted to lick it.
And with the mental image of her in my head—the one where I sat her on my washing machine and licked her clit while the machine vibrated into her cunt—I start to jerk myself in earnest.
Her tits. Small and perky as she likes to boast about. The taste of her sweet nipples and delicious skin. The smell of her. Fuck. I groan. The goddamn smell of her. That’s enough to get me off right there, but remembering her face when my tongue flicked her clit, how she gripped my hair and rocked into me, her glazed expression and hungry eyes...
That does it for me and I continue to jerk until I’m spraying my shower walls with cum.
I’m embarrassed by how fast and how hard that happened, but there’s no one to be embarrassed in front of because it’s just me in here as the object of my obsession and fascination is down the hall.
I shampoo and wash up quickly, then wrap a towel around myself and head into my bedroom. Katy is going to be hungry, wanting her Mickey-and-Minnie-shaped waffles. I need to feed her, make her lunch, get her dropped off at camp, call my attorney, oh, and wait, I forgot—
I freeze, my hands in my drawer on a pair of boxer briefs, my mouth pooling with saliva. I feel like I’m stuck in one of those reels Ash always shows me.
When your fake fiancée is wet from the shower wearing nothing but a towel standing in your bedroom, and you can’t touch her.
That’s me. Right this very second. Layla is naked beneath her towel, soaking wet because she walked into that bathroom with nothing clean to put on and I’ve never been so grateful for that mental blunder in my life.
Long legs. Creamy skin. Wet, slicked-back blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Adorable sparkling nose ring. Tiny white towel. Small swell of cleavage. I’m in fantasy overload and I can’t move or speak.
