It sounded wonderful, but . . .
“Let me, Laney,” he said, his voice low and full of emotion. “I have nothing else to give you.”
“Ash . . .”
“Please.”
I couldn’t say no to him.
I’d drunk more than I realized, probably trying to make up for the edge of anxiety that had been there with Angela’s presence, because when I moved away from him, I wobbled. Ash helped me into my coat, draped his arm around my shoulders, and we walked home like that.
It was nice. I felt safe.
But back at the apartment, it was more awkward.
Ash went to the fridge to get two bottles of water, his jeans tightening over his gorgeous ass. I shook my head. The man couldn’t even bend over to look in my refrigerator without me molesting him with my eyes. How on earth was I going to live with him?
He passed me the bottle, then shooed me into my room and told me to wear pajamas and lie on my stomach.
When I was ready, he opened the door and walked in. I was somewhat taken aback when he climbed up onto the bed and straddled me, his thighs pressing against my hips.
Then he leaned forward and I felt his warm breath on my neck as he reached across my bedside table and squirted body lotion onto his hands.
With the scent of Wild Hyacinth in the air, his fingers dug into my muscles. Damn, that felt good! He really knew what he was doing.
I kept telling myself that it wasn’t erotic—but the hell it was! His hands slid under my pajama top, massaging my bare skin. I was totally turned on, but forced myself to ignore such inappropriate feelings. I have a boyfriend, I chanted silently. I have a boyfriend.
For half an hour, he massaged my neck, shoulders, back, arms and legs, until I was a pile of mush beneath his clever fingers.
I vaguely felt his lips brush against my hair as he covered me with my quilt. I was asleep in seconds.
I woke with a raging thirst shortly after midnight. I’d only had a few beers, not enough to give a normal person a hangover, but my body didn’t seem to respond to anything normally.
I tiptoed into the living room to get a couple of cookies from the kitchen, so I didn’t have to take ibuprofen on an empty stomach. I noticed that Ash had left the drapes open and it gave me a chance to study his beautiful face, younger and softer in sleep.
But he wasn’t asleep, and I froze.
He was stretched out on the couch, his bare chest almost luminous in the glow of the street lamps.
One hand rested on his chest, but the other . . .
The thin sheet was pushed down to his thighs and he was stroking himself. His long fingers that had massaged me so thoroughly earlier in the evening were firmly grasping his hard dick and working it up and down, his thumb sweeping over the wide head. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, and his breaths were quick and shallow.
I knew I should turn around and go, leaving him alone in this very private moment, not watching like some creepy voyeur. But I couldn’t. I was mesmerized by the sight of him pleasuring himself, his hand moving faster, his firm chest rising and falling rapidly.
He muttered something in his own language, and I could tell by the tightness in his face that he was close. And God, if it wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I could feel my own arousal as I watched, drinking it all in, imagining far more than I should—imagining him with me. In me.
His hips started to jerk and then he came, pearly liquid coating his stomach.
And he called out my name, his eyes open, fixed on mine.
Embarrassed, humiliated at being caught ogling, I gasped an apology and ran back to my room, forgetting my thirst and pounding head.
The last sight I had was of his intense eyes following me, his dick still dark in color, resting against his hard stomach.
Ash
She ran from the room like a frightened rabbit. She’d been watching me, I know she had. If she was so shocked that I was jerking off, why hadn’t she left the room right away?
I grabbed the shirt I’d been wearing and cleaned myself off, tucking my spent dick away.
Part of me was glad she’d seen—seen me as a man, not just as some fucking victim that she had to feel sorry for, but another part of me regretted it. There was a good chance she’d kick me out in the morning.
It took a while to fall asleep after that, but when I did, instead of nightmares, I heard music in my head and dreamed of Laney.
In the morning, I knew she was still embarrassed because she took forever to leave her room. I was desperate for a piss, and seriously considering using the kitchen sink if she didn’t hurry up.
But she finally shuffled into the living room, muttered ‘Morning’ and refused to catch my eye.
After I’d showered, she was still acting weird.
“I’m sorry about last night . . .” I began.
“Oh no, you, um, I’m sorry,” she stuttered.
“Do you want me to go?”
Finally, she looked at me.
“No! Why would you say that?”