Page 48 of Whistle

“Good boy.”

I nodded again, and he stepped away. The sound of a locker opening filled the room. Water dripped off the tip of my nose and the ends of my hair as I stared sightlessly at the floor. A warm towel draped around my shoulders, and large hands rubbed up and down to dry me faster.

I shivered, and he moved to my hair, drying the strands until they were no longer dripping. Tossing the towel onto his desk, he grasped the hem of the hoodie.

“Arms up,” he instructed, and I lifted so he could peel the hoodie and T-shirt off in one go. It made a wet slap on the floor at my feet, and he used the towel to pat my chest and then wrap it around my back and shoulders.

“Pants,” he said, stepping back.

I stared at him blankly.

Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of the shorts I’d slept in last night and peeled them down my legs. My underwear went with them, and they joined the pile with my shirts. Still kneeling at my feet, he pulled off my sneakers and socks, tossing them away too.

And then I was standing there completely naked. Skin damp and prickling with goose bumps, toes curling into the floor.

He stood, towering over me, his body warm. With steady hands, he grasped the towel and used it across my chest, dragging it across my navel. After a rough dry of my arms, he stepped back and gazed at me. Whatever he saw had a look he’d never given me flash into his hazel eyes. It was something. So much something that it brought me back a little.

Shaking the towel out behind me, he wrapped it around my hips, rubbing his palms up and down to dry me. My body wobbled from the force of it, and my eyes closed. He kept drying, moving down each leg and then back up. I felt him hesitate. I felt him stare.

I swallowed and kept my eyes closed, waiting to see what he would do. The feel of his eyes wasn’t embarrassing. It didn’t make me shy. I wasn’t even hard. The panic and frigid temperature of the water ensured the first impression of my package was likely less than impressive.

But not unimpressive enough to keep him from staring, and if his eyes continued to linger, my soft appearance would rapidly change.

After what seemed like an internal debate, he moved, leaning around me to put the towel back on his desk.

I caught his wrist, and he stilled.

“I’m still wet.”

He exhaled, the sound of his patience leaving his body.

I liked that sound. I liked pushing this man to the very edge. I wanted him to tumble over.

“You playing me right now?” He wanted to know.

I lifted my eyes to meet his, letting him see that this was no game and that if he pulled away just then, I might shatter.

“All right now, Goldilocks,” he purred. “All right.”

The give in his voice fed the need inside me, making it multiply greedily and beg for more. I kept my lips pressed together, absolutely refusing to ask for anything else.

He palmed the towel… and then me through it. I couldn’t hold in the snuffling sound as he cupped my package with the towel, gently drying my most sensitive parts. My stomach buzzed. My heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. My breaths turned shallow, and I peeked through half-closed lids at his rough-hewn face.

“Spread your legs for me.” It wasn’t a request but didn’t have to be a demand. I widened my stance, and he slid the towel lower, drying my inner thighs and dipping behind my balls.

The inside of his wrist brushed against my sack. The skin-on-skin contact made me gasp. My eyes flew to him, and he met them, the gold ring around his irises sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July.

I flung myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck and pushing close. The towel fell between us, and he grunted as I squeezed close, seeking his kiss.

My groan filled the room the second I found it, his warm, full lips offering sweet refuge. I surrendered instantly, eagerly parting so he could sweep inside, and that’s exactly what he did.

This kiss was not at all like the one before. It was not tentative or reassuring but bold and consuming. Hesitation ceased to exist, and I surrendered to the dominating way he yielded his tongue, hungry for every grunt and growl, melting for the possessive way he clutched me close as though he couldn’t get enough. I ached to crawl inside him and make a home but settled instead for kissing him with all the passion he inspired. His short beard was abrasive, rubbing against my chin, stinging my skin, and making me feel marked. Desperate for more, I clung tighter, straining up on tiptoes, and he palmed my bare ass, lifting me off my feet. My legs wound around his waist, brain registering his soaked clothes but forgetting when his fingers bit into my ass cheeks and he deepened the kiss like the world might be ending.

I thrust against his middle, my dick wide awake and hard as hell. The cold, wet fabric of his shirt was annoying, and I reached between us to tow it up and wiggle around until my hard shaft met his skin.

Our lips popped apart, both of us groaning. I shuddered, thrust against him again, and lifted my chin. His one hand came up to grasp the front of my throat, fingers splaying along my jaw. It was so possessive I whimpered, and he fed me his tongue. I sucked on him like I was starving, fingernails biting into his clothes, my bare dick rubbing over his hard stomach.

Panting, I dropped my head onto his shoulder, fingertips rubbing in the very short hair at the base of his neck.

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