Page 11 of Nothing Left to Lose

When my teeth chattered, I got out and dried off as quick as I could. I wrapped the towel around me, extra tight, and held my dirty clothes in front of my traitorous dick as I walked out.

“Shower’s all yours,” I said, not making eye contact.

He disappeared, thankfully, and I busied myself getting dressed and ready, all while trying really hard not to think about Miller being naked and wet in the freaking shower.

The hell is wrong with my brain right now?

This was absurd.

I’d definitely have to jerk off tonight when he was asleep.

Yep, that’ll fix it.

I just hadn’t taken part in any self-care for too long apparently.

If one could consider yesterday morning in the shower before I picked him up for our trip astoo long.

It was most definitely too long.

Think bad thoughts. Think terrible thoughts. Think disgustingly gross thoughts.

A knock at the door scared the shit out of me and I rushed to open it. It was a hotel staff member, dressed in their fancy uniforms. She was cute. Very much my type: long hair, big boobs, bright smile...

But not at all what I wanted.

What I wanted was in the shower right now.

God fucking dammit.

She was also holding another bottle of Moët and she offered to me. “As requested,” she said. “Courtesy of?—”

Miller chose that exact freaking moment to walk out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was wet and combed back, water beads across his chest.

“Oh,” he said, balking. “I didn’t know we had company, sorry.”

I was still looking at his happy trail and the outline of his dick in that wrapped-tight towel.

I was losing my damn mind.

I turned back to the staff, who was also staring at Miller, eyes wide and clearly liking what she saw.

I took the bottle from her. “I’m gonna need this, thank you,” I managed to say.

At this rate, I was going to need an entire cellar of it.

I tipped her, closed the door and leaned against it, trying to get a grip. But Miller was still standing there, still wet and almost naked... the towel didn’t hide much.

“You good?” he asked, eyeing the bottle in my hands.

Then he turned around to grab his bag, and his ass in that too-tight towel was pure fucking art.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I squeaked.

I was absolutely not fine.

I was having impure thoughts about my best friend.

Who was a man, I needed to remind myself.

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