Getting Hotter
Page 6
When his mom had phoned and demanded he keep an eye on Miranda, Seth’s first thought had been hell yeah. Moving to a new city was tough, and he’d been more than ready to show Miranda some Southern California hospitality. Helping her unpack some boxes, taking her out to a dinner or two, and then, if they happened to wind up in bed…well, he sure wouldn’t be complaining. Except there was one thing he hadn’t banked on—her stubborn determination to resist his advances.
And he also hadn’t anticipated the baggage she came with.
Kids.
Two of them.
Christ. Like one wasn’t bad enough.
As he sipped his water, he watched Dylan assemble a baffling collection of items. A box of crackers from the cabinet. A block of cheddar cheese from the fridge. Chocolate syrup. A knife, presumably for the cheese.
“Anyway, if you do have a thing for Miranda because she reminds you of Missy, that’s perfectly healthy,” Dylan said.
Seth let out a sigh. “Do you realize that you have absolutely no credibility right now?”
“Why the hell not?” Dylan added a box of sugar cubes to the growing pile in his hands.
“Because you’re walking around the kitchen with your c**k flapping in the wind like the American flag.”
“What can I say? My dick’s a patriot.”
Seth snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you—okay, seriously, what the f**k are you gonna do with all that stuff?” he demanded as Dylan grabbed a pack of toothpicks and a saltshaker from the cupboard.
His roommate strode toward the kitchen doorway. “Some of this is for eating, the rest is props.”
“Please tell me you have a girl in your room.”
“Duh.”
“Thank God, because I just pictured you drizzling chocolate syrup over your own balls, and almost threw up.”
“Quit fantasizing about my balls. Pervert.” Dylan tossed one final grin over his shoulder before disappearing.
Seth chugged the rest of his water and dropped the empty bottle in the blue recycling bin across the room. He left the kitchen, peeling off his black T-shirt as he made his way to the bathroom. Considering the relentless throbbing down below, he really ought to be taking a cold shower, but when he yanked off his jeans, the erection that popped up and slapped his navel was impossible to ignore.
Screw it. One way or another, he was getting some relief tonight.
Two minutes later, he dunked his head under the shower spray, letting the hot water slide down his face and neck. Rivulets coursed down his chest and dripped onto his hard cock, making it ache even more.
With a strangled groan, Seth leaned forward and rested his right forearm on the tiled wall. Then he brought his left hand to his groin and encircled his stiff shaft. At that first stroke, a shudder of anticipation racked his body.
Christ. He needed this. He hadn’t been with a woman in two months, not since he’d picked up that cute tattooed redhead at a bar after another one of Miranda’s rejections. He’d brought the woman home and screwed her all night long—and yet the encounter had left him entirely unsatisfied. He’d tried again a week later, cozying up to one of the ladies Dylan had come home with, but try as he might, he hadn’t been able to muster up any enthusiasm. Or an erection.
Miranda, damn her, had ruined him for all other women. He needed to f**k her, ASAP, before he completely lost his mojo.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he worked his cock, jacking it in a fast, furious rhythm, moving his hips to match the frantic pace he’d set. Steam filled the shower stall. His breath came out in harsh pants.
An image of Miranda’s tight ass flashed across his mind. Shit, she had a great ass. Looked particularly juicy in a pair of black tights. And her tits… His hand moved faster over his cock, mouth filling with saliva as he pictured those round, perky br**sts bouncing beneath her tank top each time she walked up and down the bar counter.
The base of his spine began to tingle, all the blood in his body migrating south to pulse between his legs.
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Fuck, f**k, f**k.”
He came with a ragged grunt that bounced off the walls. A rush of pleasure flew through him, and his hand went still as hot jets of come shot out of his dick and landed on the tub floor.
After he caught his breath, he uncurled his fist and let his hand fall to his side. Damn it. Not enough. He didn’t feel an ounce of relief. The climax had been good, but his erection refused to subside. Stiff shaft, tight balls and, holy shit, but the anticipation was building again. The pressure that had just been blown to smithereens began to re-form into a knot of sexual desperation that throbbed in his groin.
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.
Smothering a groan, he brought his hand back to his dick and got ready for a repeat performance.
Cursing Miranda Breslin the entire time.
“Sorry, honey. I was chatting with my roommate.” Dylan entered his bedroom and flashed his trademark ladies’-man smile at the naked girl in his bed.
The blonde giggled as she studied the various food items in his hands. “You weren’t kidding about the chocolate syrup.”
“I never kid about chocolate syrup.”
He sank on the edge of the bed and dropped the supplies on the patterned bedspread. Next to him, Kelly scooted closer and reached for the plastic Hershey’s bottle. She popped the lid with her red-manicured fingers. “So what do you say, sailor? Feel like getting dirty?”
“Me? Uh-uh, baby doll, you’re the one getting dirty.”
And he also hadn’t anticipated the baggage she came with.
Kids.
Two of them.
Christ. Like one wasn’t bad enough.
As he sipped his water, he watched Dylan assemble a baffling collection of items. A box of crackers from the cabinet. A block of cheddar cheese from the fridge. Chocolate syrup. A knife, presumably for the cheese.
“Anyway, if you do have a thing for Miranda because she reminds you of Missy, that’s perfectly healthy,” Dylan said.
Seth let out a sigh. “Do you realize that you have absolutely no credibility right now?”
“Why the hell not?” Dylan added a box of sugar cubes to the growing pile in his hands.
“Because you’re walking around the kitchen with your c**k flapping in the wind like the American flag.”
“What can I say? My dick’s a patriot.”
Seth snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you—okay, seriously, what the f**k are you gonna do with all that stuff?” he demanded as Dylan grabbed a pack of toothpicks and a saltshaker from the cupboard.
His roommate strode toward the kitchen doorway. “Some of this is for eating, the rest is props.”
“Please tell me you have a girl in your room.”
“Duh.”
“Thank God, because I just pictured you drizzling chocolate syrup over your own balls, and almost threw up.”
“Quit fantasizing about my balls. Pervert.” Dylan tossed one final grin over his shoulder before disappearing.
Seth chugged the rest of his water and dropped the empty bottle in the blue recycling bin across the room. He left the kitchen, peeling off his black T-shirt as he made his way to the bathroom. Considering the relentless throbbing down below, he really ought to be taking a cold shower, but when he yanked off his jeans, the erection that popped up and slapped his navel was impossible to ignore.
Screw it. One way or another, he was getting some relief tonight.
Two minutes later, he dunked his head under the shower spray, letting the hot water slide down his face and neck. Rivulets coursed down his chest and dripped onto his hard cock, making it ache even more.
With a strangled groan, Seth leaned forward and rested his right forearm on the tiled wall. Then he brought his left hand to his groin and encircled his stiff shaft. At that first stroke, a shudder of anticipation racked his body.
Christ. He needed this. He hadn’t been with a woman in two months, not since he’d picked up that cute tattooed redhead at a bar after another one of Miranda’s rejections. He’d brought the woman home and screwed her all night long—and yet the encounter had left him entirely unsatisfied. He’d tried again a week later, cozying up to one of the ladies Dylan had come home with, but try as he might, he hadn’t been able to muster up any enthusiasm. Or an erection.
Miranda, damn her, had ruined him for all other women. He needed to f**k her, ASAP, before he completely lost his mojo.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he worked his cock, jacking it in a fast, furious rhythm, moving his hips to match the frantic pace he’d set. Steam filled the shower stall. His breath came out in harsh pants.
An image of Miranda’s tight ass flashed across his mind. Shit, she had a great ass. Looked particularly juicy in a pair of black tights. And her tits… His hand moved faster over his cock, mouth filling with saliva as he pictured those round, perky br**sts bouncing beneath her tank top each time she walked up and down the bar counter.
The base of his spine began to tingle, all the blood in his body migrating south to pulse between his legs.
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Fuck, f**k, f**k.”
He came with a ragged grunt that bounced off the walls. A rush of pleasure flew through him, and his hand went still as hot jets of come shot out of his dick and landed on the tub floor.
After he caught his breath, he uncurled his fist and let his hand fall to his side. Damn it. Not enough. He didn’t feel an ounce of relief. The climax had been good, but his erection refused to subside. Stiff shaft, tight balls and, holy shit, but the anticipation was building again. The pressure that had just been blown to smithereens began to re-form into a knot of sexual desperation that throbbed in his groin.
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.
Smothering a groan, he brought his hand back to his dick and got ready for a repeat performance.
Cursing Miranda Breslin the entire time.
“Sorry, honey. I was chatting with my roommate.” Dylan entered his bedroom and flashed his trademark ladies’-man smile at the naked girl in his bed.
The blonde giggled as she studied the various food items in his hands. “You weren’t kidding about the chocolate syrup.”
“I never kid about chocolate syrup.”
He sank on the edge of the bed and dropped the supplies on the patterned bedspread. Next to him, Kelly scooted closer and reached for the plastic Hershey’s bottle. She popped the lid with her red-manicured fingers. “So what do you say, sailor? Feel like getting dirty?”
“Me? Uh-uh, baby doll, you’re the one getting dirty.”
