Page 13 of The Perfect Snipe

“What is with you guys and showers? Don’t you take one before you even leave the rink?”

“I can still smell the equipment stink a bit. Kind of like working with fish. No matter how much you shower, sometimes the stench lingers.”

When she turns her attention back to the food, I walk out, and not a moment too soon because now my dick’s fully erect.

I race up the stairs, praying my kids don’t come out of their room, then make my way into the ensuite bathroom. The cool tile beneath my feet is a stark contrast to the heat radiating from my body.

The moment I yank my pants down, my dick springs free, hard as a fucking rock, and I groan. Sweat beads on my forehead as I palm myself, stroking the thick shaft. I’m so worked up, I might blow my load with one more tug.

Swear I’ve jerked it more in the past week and a half than I have in years. I shouldn’t be thinking of her in that way, but my traitorous dick just won’t quit.

I turn on the shower and step into the hot spray, but the tension in my muscles doesn’t release beneath the water. Instead, images of Cat invade my mind, flashing behind my closed eyes like a fucking slideshow. Her full lips curved into a smirk, the sway of her hips, the way her shirt stretches across those perky tits.

Fuck.

I can’t do this. Can’t think about her like this. But my dick has a mind of its own. It throbs, swelling and hardening with each pulse of my heartbeat. I’m rock hard, my cock standing at attention like a goddamn soldier. I try to will it down, but it’s no use. I’m aching, needing release.

Like I’m a goddamn teenager. I’d probably fucking come before she even got undressed.

Restraining myself is futile at this point. I spit on my hand, the saliva barely enough to slick my palm. I grasp my length, feeling the heat and hardness, the veins pulsing beneath my fingers. I stroke myself slowly at first, teasing, as I picture Cat on her knees in front of me. Her big eyes looking up, lips parted, ready to take me in.

My fingers tighten around my shaft, lingering on that spot underneath the sensitive head. A shiver runs down my spineas I imagine her tongue flicking out, tasting me. I squeeze, pretending it’s her mouth enveloping me, and jerk myself faster. The sound of my hand working my cock echoes in the shower, a steady, wet slap.

Looking down, I watch as my cock disappears into my fist, over and over. I’m fucking my hand, pretending it’s her. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass—I want it all. My breath comes in ragged gasps, steam billowing around me like a fucking sauna.

I’m so close. Right there, on the edge. My other hand presses against the tile wall, fingers curling, as my hips buck.

Right there. Right there. I can feel it building, the pressure in my balls, the tingling at the base of my spine. I grunt hard, my body tensing, ready for release.

Then someone bangs on the door. “Dad!”

Fuck.

“Dad!”

“What?” My voice is gravelly, strangled, my hand still jerking. Maybe if I—

“Cat’s bleeding!” Mason’s panicking, banging on the door with more force. “Dad! She’s got hurt!”

A chill runs over my skin, the hair on my forearms standing up despite being wet. I burst out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around my waist. Water drips onto the floor as I fling open the door to find my son, his wide blue eyes—so much like mine—filled with fear that only seems to double my own.

I hurry past him to grab a pair of black joggers, putting them on quickly before I race downstairs, Mason’s smaller footsteps just behind.

My heart races, pumping blood and adrenaline throughout my body as I sprint into the kitchen. There’s blood on the floor along with shards of ceramic. “What the fuck!”

My breath comes out ragged as I follow the trail of crimson over to the kitchen table where Cat sits, one foot crossed overher thigh as it drips blood. In a few long strides I’m there on my knees. “What happened?”

“She was trying to get a bowl from the shelf.” Stella’s face is pale as she sits next to Cat.

“I’m okay. Really.” Cat looks over my shoulder. “Mason, don’t come in. Stay in the living room so you don’t step on anything.”

I follow her gaze, first at my son, who remains in the hallway, and then over to the cabinet. The entire middle shelf is pulled down. My molars grind together. “Mason grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.”

“Leo–”

“Shut up, Cat.” I glare at her, then gently lift her ankle to inspect the wound. “How the fuck did the whole shelf fall?”

“Dad, stop being so mean.”

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