Page 33 of Virgin Skin

Just say it, Piston. Tell me to stay home.

He drags his eyes away from my soapy ass, his nostrils flaring with a breath, and then he steps out of the bathroom without another word. The door swings closed behind him, and I sag against the shower wall.

Fuck. I pushed too hard.

I bang my forehead lightly against the wall, then turn my back to the shower spray to rinse all the soap off. When I’m done, I shut the water off and step out carefully so I don’t slip on the drenched floor and crack my head open. What an embarrassing way to die that would be: naked, bleeding out from a head wound in the bathroom, andstill a virgin.

I shudder at the thought. It’s horrifying, but definitely not scary enough to consider actually hooking up with anyone at the club tonight. That doesn’t mean I can’t go and enjoy a couple of drinks, dance with some of the sweaty strangers Piston is so opposed to, and let loose a little.

I look around the steamy bathroom in search of the towel I could have sworn I brought in with me. There’s nothing but a hand towel hanging from the hook next to the sink though. Oh well, not the first time I’ve had to traipse through somewhere wet and naked after forgetting a towel.

I shake my head like a shaggy dog drying off, wet strands of my hair whipping at my face. Once I’m satisfied, I cross the bathroom—again, very carefully—and fling the door open. I assumed that when Piston stormed out, he did it properly. I grin when I see him leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, still rocking an impressive bulge in his button fly jeans. His eyes widen when he sees me.

“Milo.” God, he’s so fucking good at rasping my name like it’s the filthiest word he knows. It makes me wish it were illegal for anyone else to say it at all.

“I forgot my towel.” I stand there dripping on the wood floor.

Piston lets out a rough laugh and then pushes off the wall. He opens the linen closet and pulls out a towel. I reach for it, but instead of handing it to me, he drapes it over my head and tousles my hair with it.

I laugh and playfully shove him away, pulling the towel off of my head and wrapping it around my waist.

“I can dry my own hair.” My tone comes out more defiant than I mean it to. I just don’t want him to see me as a little kid. I’m sure our age difference is half the problem, and the fact that he’s friends with my dad just keeps reminding him how much younger I am.

He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, making his jeans sag just enough to show off a strip of skin along his waistline.

“Did Jag say where we’re going tonight?”

My eyebrows jump up.

“We’re?”

PISTON

No, I wasn’t planning to go out with them tonight. Mainly because playing into Jag’s evil plans never ends well for anyone but Jag. But also because I spent all week trying to imagine a scenario where I’m able to watch some asshole paw at Milo without losing my shit.

I’m not a guy who loses my shit. I’ve spent forty-six years learning how to keep my shit in an orderly and well-maintained fashion. Less than two weeks of knowing Milo and the shit organizational system has completely broken down.

I’m out of ideas though. If he’s determined to go, I’m not about to sit around and spend the night wondering if he’s getting a sloppy blowjob from some guy whose name he doesn’t even know in the bathroom of some skeevy club. If anyone is going to give him a sloppy blowjob—

No.

I grind my teeth together so hard pain shoots straight up the back of my neck to form a tension headache.

“Some place called The Grind.” His answer solidifies my decision.

“Of fucking course,” I grumble. “Why am I not surprised that Jag would pick the only club in the state with actual glory holes in the bathroom that are still in use?”

Milo’s eyebrows jump up and his voice dips low. “Wait, seriously?”

A possessive, frustrated sound swells in my throat again, but I manage to swallow it down this time.

“Don’t leave without me. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” My voice sounds hoarse as I bark the request—demand?—at him, but at least I don’t growl this time. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I strip my shirt over my head on my way into the bathroom. It’s still humid, with the mirror fogged and every surface damp. I flip the switch to turn on the overhead fan, not that it will help a whole hell of a lot, then crank the shower on. I don’t have to wait for it to warm up, so I finish undressing in a hurry and hop under the warm spray.

Images of Milo teasingly stroking himself, of his cute, perky ass cheeks as he bent over to flash me his hole, flood my mind and thicken my cock. Shouldn’t a virgin be a hell of a lot more shy? Shouldn’t he blush and awkwardly hurry to hide himself instead of purposefully teasing me with all of his delicious, untouchable nakedness? But, fuck, it’s so much hotter this way.Which is bad. Very bad. If he was a shy, timid virgin it would be easy to remember that I can’t defile him with my filthy hands and greedy mouth.

I groan and the sound bounces off the shower walls the same way Milo’s singing did a few minutes ago. I want to wrap my hand around my cock and chase a quick release with thoughts of his tight, soapy hole right at the forefront. I’m not about to reward my traitorous cock like that though. Of course, that means that by the time I shut off the water and step out of the shower, I’m still rock hard, my cock pointing upward, my balls tight and aching.

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