Page 32 of Unhurried Hearts

“Yeah, I’d be down for that. Let me get this cat off my lap.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

I laugh. “You have photographic evidence of said cat.”

Her laughter sounds sweet on the phone but then she makes a weird sound. One that sounds like she’s in pain.

I wish I could see her instead of only hearing her voice. “Are you okay?”

“You don’t happen to have any anti-inflammatories lying around your house, do you?”

“What happened?” I shove Yogi off my lap.

“Some mild muscle soreness,” she groans again.

Mild, my ass.

“I’ve got you covered. See you in a bit, okay?”

“Yep. Thank you.”

I jump out of my recliner, suddenly frazzled by the idea of Anna in pain and needing me.

I scan my dim apartment, my shoes still by the door. I’m not sure what to do first. I want to leave as soon as possible but I have to grab Anna the medicine from the bathroom. I snag the bottle of anti-inflammatories from the medicine cabinet and while I’m in here, I sniff an underarm. Sighing, I glance at my watch. A shower is probably a good idea after rearranging furniture with Berg this evening.

I kick off my jeans and step under the spray before it’s even all the way warm. Despite the cool water pouring over me, I’m hard. A one-minute phone call with a woman I’ve only so much as kissed and I’m a fucking rock. All I can think of is her in my lap yesterday. I start soaping off,deciding I can ignore this boner, no problem. Then I run my slippery hand loosely over my dick to get clean. A gasp leaves my lips at how good it feels, my other hand shooting out toward the dark tiled wall to support me. When was the last time I jerked off? A week ago? More?

Going over there without taking care of this is a bad idea. Maybe a bit of relief would be good. Glancing at the bar of soap, feeling how achy I am…fuck it. With suds coating my palm, I take myself in my fist and pump once from base to tip. My groans echo off the tile as I brace my left forearm against the wall and stroke again. Precum drips from my slit. My grip is loose, but I pick up speed. In my mind, Anna is waiting for me on her bed. Sheets pulled up over her hips, long hair cascading over her round breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss, my balls contracting already.

Imaginary Anna rolls over, the bed sheet slipping off her hip, so I get a glorious view of bare ass that I want to sink my teeth into. The muscles in my forearm burn from my tightening grip around my impossibly hard dick.

“Christ, I’m trying to get there, Annie.”

My strokes stutter, concentrating on the swollen crown of my cock, and then I cry out. The shout of pleasure is accompanied by a strong spurt of cum, white against the nearly black tiles.

“Holy…” I breathe, resisting the temptation to slip down onto the shower seat and bask in the shockingly powerful orgasm. When I’m clean, I leave a trail of damp footprints behind me as I head for my bedroom. I stare into my dresser drawers. Anna’s panic at getting dressed in time for our hike suddenly doesn’t seem so silly. She wasn’t any more flustered than I am right now. Settling on soft sweats and a t-shirt, I’m ready to go. It’s not a fashion contest and I know movie night really means an excuse to cuddle. Nobody wants to snuggle up against zippers and denim. With the medicine in my pocket, I tousle the fur that Yogi just finished taming and jog to the Jeep, briefly noting that I’m literally running to meet Anna, and loving the way that feels.

Chapter fifteen

Anna

Is it crazy to Google how long it takes to drive from Chris’s place to mine? Seventeen minutes. That’s how long I have until Chris shows up. I know calling someone in the middle of the night has booty call connotations, but what does inviting someone over mid-eveningmean? Especially when you’ve agreed to take things slow. I resist running around my studio to tidy and prepare. One, I’m too lazy, and two, I’m too sore. This is the kind of muscle ache that makes getting on and off the toilet feel strenuous. My bed is neatly made, and my teeth vigorously brushed so I sit on the tightly tucked covers, counting down theminutes.

I yelp at the shrill ring of the door buzzer even though I’m expecting it. I’m wound up tighter than a drum. We’ll have a good time tonight, whatever happens. When he lets himself in, I’m not prepared for how delicious he looks. I’ve seen him in filthy construction man clothes, athletic clothes, hell, even shirtless through my phone. But this laid-back fresh out of the shower Saturday evening Chris is something else. He catches me staring and grins, the left side of his mouth rising as he enters, turning to lock the door behind him. His ass in grey sweats is a sight to behold, the fabric stretching against him as he bends to remove his shoes.

“How are you this evening?” He shakes the bottle of painkillers at me and now I know what a cat feels like when someone shakes their treat container.

“Not too...bad.” I wince as I rise to greet him.

He holds up a hand to stop me, “Stay where you are, I’ll get some water so you can take these. Where do you keep your glasses?”

Having a guy in my place in the evening is weird enough on its own. Sitting on my bed while he dotes on me is like an out-of-body experience.

“It’s either cabinet A or cabinet B,” I say, mocking my miniature kitchen.

He sucks air between his teeth, “50/50 chance. I’m gonna go with A.” He opens the white lacquered cabinet. “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!”

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