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“You’re on a diet?” He sounds pretty angry about that, which makes me snicker. You and me both, Jagger.
I stand up and pull my arms back into the T-shirt and slide the straps of the tank and bra down my arms before pushing them back through the sleeves. Then I reach under the T-shirt and shimmy the material down my body before letting gravity take over. Stepping out of them, I shove my pants down my legs as I answer him without looking. “I’m on a dick diet.” I kick my pants off and pick up my discarded clothes, freezing when I realize how close my head is to Jagger’s cock.
“How do we keep ending up like this?” he asks. When I look up at him, he groans and fists his hands at his sides, like he’s trying to restrain himself from reaching out and grabbing me.
“I blame you,” I complain, standing up so quickly I lose my balance.
I don’t fall, though, because Jagger and his ninja reflexes catch me, his hand going around my back, which pulls my body flush with his.
“I was going to ask how it was my fault, but I think this is exactly what you’re referring to.”
“Huh-uh,” I murmur in agreement as my breathing picks up.
He takes a deep breath and lets me go once he knows I’m steady, then takes a step back. “You make it hard to remember I’m a good guy,” he tells me, his eyes drifting down to my chest. He swallows as if he can see right through the cotton T-shirt.
“They’re just boobs, Jagger.”
“It’s not just your boobs,” he answers without skipping a beat, his eyes dropping to my now bare legs. “It’s your legs I picture wrapped around me as I’m moving inside you, your hair I imagine spread out over my pillow, and your eyes staring at me as you feel me coming inside you.”
I blink, not expecting that. I should protest, remind him of how we said we’d go slow, and ignore my now-soaked underwear. But when he looks at me like that, it’s hard to remember all the reasons I wanted to go slow in the first place.
Slade walks in behind Jagger, breaking the tense moment between us. He looks from Jagger to me and frowns. “What did I miss?”
“Astrid was just telling me she’s on a dick diet,” Jagger answers with a grin.
“Meaning you can eat as much dick as you like? Allow me to volunteer my services,” Slade offers graciously, stripping out of his T-shirt and tossing it aside.
I whimper before I can stop myself and cross my legs, unconsciously rubbing them together to ease the ache. “I’m giving up dick,” I blow out, trying to regain my composure.
“Like for Lent?” Slade cocks his head.
“No, because it’s bad for me.”
“Oh, baby girl, you just haven’t had the right dick, that’s all.” He adjusts his cock as he takes a step closer to me, as does Jagger, until all I can see is them. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow.”
“I don’t think slow means what you think it does,” I whisper.
Jagger sticks his arm out in front of Slade to stop him from pushing any further. “You want us to back off?”
“I don’t want you to, but I need you to.” Everything is starting to overwhelm me.
“Then we’ll back off,” he states, as simple as that.
Slade grumbles under his breath, but he takes a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. He turns to Jagger. “I’ll take the bed, you take the sofa, and tomorrow we’ll switch.”
Jagger shrugs. “Works for me.”
“Wait? What? Oh, crap, I forgot about there being only one other bed. You can stay here with me, it’s fine,” I tell Jagger, watching Slade’s shoulders slump, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You sure? There’s no pressure,” Jagger reiterates.
“No, it’s good, actually. It’ll be nice to have someone between me and the door. That way, when the clowns come, they’ll eat you first.”
“I’ll happily take one for the team.”
Slade nods and turns to leave, but when he gets to the door, I call his name. It doesn’t feel right to let him leave. He looks over his shoulder at me.
“What if they come through the window?” I say, playing with the hem of my T-shirt.
