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“I have it all,” she squeaked, and his grin broadened.
She was fucking adorable.
He’d never been this nervous leading a girl to his bedroom before. Before Mandy, he rarely fucked anyone when he was sober, and even more rarely made it past the front door without bending them over the closest surface and fucking them until their throat was raw from screaming. He’d then send them on their way and stumble to his bedroom, falling face first into his pillows just to do it all again the next night.
This was different, though.
Abbie was different.
He was being gentle with her. Taking his time. He didn’t want to terrify her. He didn’t want to use her for a quick release. If he had it his way, she’d be with him forever. But he didn’t usually get his way.
He knew when she left him, it was going to hurt a hell of a lot more than it did when Mandy left. Even with her cheating on him, he knew that pain would never compare to what he’d feel if he lost Abbie.
He didn’t know what the fuck he’d do. He wouldn’t survive it.
He never wanted to know what it felt like, but he wasn’t stupid. She was young and gorgeous and so fucking smart and funny…she was a catch. There was no reason for her to be with an older ex-con like him.
Stepping into the bedroom, he shook the thoughts from his head and awkwardly stood to the side as she stepped further in. He glanced at the bed as he ran his hand over his head. What was she thinking?
“The sheets are clean,” he blurted. “Just washed them.” She gave him a startled look, which was fair. It was a weird fucking thing to say. But he wanted her to be comfortable and not worry about sleeping in his unwashed sheets.
“Okay,” she muttered, glancing back around the room. Her eyes zeroed in on something, and he pushed his brows together before panic surged through him.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck.
How had he forgotten that was there? Why didn’t he double check he’d put everything away? Fucking idiot.
Idiot.
“Sorry,” he grunted, rushing past her. “Fuck. Sorry.”
He grabbed the fleshlight from where it sat on his bedside table like a fucking trophy, and yanked the drawer open, throwing it inside. His face was flaming as he turned back to her, finding her with her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide, and cheeks maybe redder than his.
“Sorry,” he said again.
Still, she just stared at him. Had he broken her? Did she not have sex toys? Maybe not, since she was a virgin. Or maybe she did. He didn’t know what virgins kept in their bedside drawers.
“Was that—that—was that?—”
It was cute as shit when she stammered like that, and he felt some of his embarrassment melt away, especially when she shifted, pressing her thighs together.
“A pussy pocket?” he finished for her, his voice low. Her eyes seemed to widen even more. “Yeah. I thought I put it away. But I forgot.”
“You use it?” she blurted, and he slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He eyed her for a moment, trying to figure out what she was feeling.
Horror? Excitement? Turned on?
But then she shifted again, her breathing ragged, and he had his answer.
“Almost every night.”
“Oh my God,” she breathed, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks. “Every night?” His chin dipped in a slight nod. “How many times a night?” She immediately shook her head. “No. Nope. Forget I asked that. Forget those words ever came out of my mouth.”
He should put a stop to this before it went too far. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.
“Sometimes only once. Sometimes I keep going until it feels like my cock is going to fall off from how sensitive it is. I like to finish and keep stroking myself, to see how much I can take.”
