I sit on the bed as she closes the door. My hand reaches for a book on my nightstand, but the sex-deprived asshole in me wishes it were reaching for her bra instead. She is taking an exceptionally long time to undress in there. Then … the soft drop of fabric on the floor. Her dress is off now, no doubt, and the squeal of the shower knob as the water rushes out drives me mad.
I imagine her working off her thong. Is she wearing a thong? Is she wearing anything? I try to focus, to train my eyes to move across the words on the pages in front of me. I try to comprehend what those words mean, but I see nothing but Emily naked—rubbing her hands over her body with my bar of soap.
Fuck.
Something about her makes me crazy. Really great idea bringing her here. I should have driven her home, hung out with her there, because her being here is too risky.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand. “Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, are you coming to brunch at—”
“I’m not feeling very well. I think I am getting the flu.”
“Oh, no! I was wondering why you disappeared. I sent Deacon over, but you weren’t home. Anyway, I’ll let you rest, but no surgery for Isabel.”
“Great. Listen, I gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you later.”
We hang up, and I toss the book aside. I get up and walk to the door, pressing my ear against it, idiotically hoping to hear her moan. Nothing but water running. My lips press together in frustration. God, I would love to be in there with her, fucking her against the slick tile, her legs tight around me.
But it can never happen.
Aside from the obvious reasons, she’s acting cold today. I know she was interested at one point. She wouldn’t have kissed me otherwise. But a lot can change in four months.
“Need anything?” I feel like a creep.
“Um … I didn’t see any towels!”
I’m not sure whether to hate or like myself for not making sure she had one, but I grab one from the dryer. I smell it to be sure it isn’t mildewed—sometimes I suck at being a bachelor, but what man doesn’t—and knock on the door just as the water turns off.
“Towel is outside the door. I’ll be in the kitchen while you dress.”
“Would you mind bringing it to me?” Her words are muffled through the door, but they make my cock jump.
“Uh, yeah, but—”
“Come on, I’m freezing and dripping wet!”
I grip the doorknob, twist it, and step inside. Keeping my eyes on the tile, I walk straight toward the glass shower. Do not look up, I tell myself. Except when I get close enough to hand it to her, I fucking look up. In what feels like slow motion, but can’t be more than a millisecond, my eyes run from her feet to her breasts. Her shape is stunning, pussy hidden only because she’s sideways. Breasts shielded in intentional modesty by her arms. The curve of her ass is the only real thing I get to enjoy. Her body decorated in droplets of water from the shower I wish I could fuck her in. Just as quickly as I have taken her in, my eyes flick back to the floor and push the towel through the bar on the door.
“Thanks.” Her voice is devoid of insecurity. So. Fucking. Sexy.
I clear my throat. “You’re welcome.” Shit, I need to get laid. Four months of no sex will have you doing crazy things like fantasizing over your best friend’s ex girl.
I turn, head for the bedroom again, when I hear her moan. Only, it is a moan of distress. I spin around. “What’s the matter?”
The towel is around her body now, her perfect, lean legs slick with water, damp hair falling in front of her eyes as she brings a hand to her forehead.
“I … I don’t know. I’m feeling a little woozy again.”
“Really? Maybe it was the hot water.” I step closer to her, ready to steady her if needed.
She wobbles on her feet before leaning back against the tile, her head hanging. “Probably wasn’t a great idea. Hot showers make me dizzy sometimes anyway.”
My hand reaches out to her, but she waves it off.
“I can’t move yet. Everything is spinning.” Her body slides down as she sits in the bottom of the shower, her knees pulled to her chest, and … holy fuck—a mere glimpse of the edge of her pussy as she adjusts.
Slyly, I adjust my cock, hoping it will stay down, but it isn’t cooperating. “Let me pick you up.”
“I’m too heavy,” she groans. “I just need a couple minutes.”
“You are not too heavy,” I scoff. “I’m picking you up. You can’t stay in the shower. Let me get you to the bed.” FUCK, LET ME GET HER TO THE BED. But no, fuck! I’m totally crossing a line here.
I hook a hand around her back and under her arm, then use the other to support her legs. Her arms wrap around my neck. She is light, perhaps one-ten, one-fifteen of pure perfection. Her mouth is against my neck as I carry her toward the bed, wishing I could unwrap that towel.
I am going to hell. I started the day off at church, and now here I am wishing I could end it in Emily’s pussy. But I’m just horny. This is normal. I’m a guy.
I lower her onto my bed, the towel unfortunately still in place. As I stand again, I feel a brush of her lips against my neck. “You need something?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. I’ll let you rest awhile. I’ll just be in the living room if you need anything.”
“Hey, Brooks?” Her hand grabs my forearm.
I spin to her. “Yeah?”
She grabs my hand, and sits up, adjusting the towel as she does. She pulls me in toward her, and presses her cheek against mine. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For helping me. For doing all this. I appreciate it.”
The words ripple through my ear, sending a chill down my back that drives me fucking crazy. If she doesn’t let go of me right now, I might kiss her, and slip my hand up her thigh.
What the fuck is wrong with me?