Page 10 of The Rhino's Rose

CORNELIUS

It’s just shy of ten o’clock when my phone pings on the table beside my bed. Without checking, I know it’s Rose. I’m not much of a texter with friends and family, and it’s too late to be anyone in the business.

After offering to be available, I can’t ignore the text. Nor do I want to. I must have a masochist side. Though, after the way Rose looked when she walked away from the jobsite, I doubt she’d message me if she didn’t legitimately need help. Either way, I’m obligated to answer.

I reach over to the nightstand and collect the phone, my pulse picking up at the text preview that says “Hi Cornelius, this is Rose.” In the seconds it takes to swipe my big thumb across the screen and open the full message, my cock is ready to make a tent out of the thin sheet covering my naked body.

Rose

Hi Cornelius, this is Rose. I hate to bother you again (especially after making a fool of myself earlier), but I was about to take a bath and there’s no hot water. Is that something quick and easy to fix, or should I call the plumbertomorrow?

About to take a bath.About to be naked and slippery, the hot water turning her fair skin pink. Groaning, I throw the sheet off and wrap my fingers around my cock, giving it a firm stroke from balls to tip. I jerked off in the shower earlier, but my body feels like it hasn’t shot a load in a year. Before I get another full stroke in, my phone pings again.

Rose

No need to answer, I’m going to call the plumber in the morning. Sorry if I disturbed you. I know you had a long day.

I should send a quick “Okay” and let it go. But it won’t hurt to send something friendlier than a single word reply.

I was still awake, and even I if wasn’t, I said you could call me anytime and I meant it. If you can’t get the plumber over there tomorrow, let me know. I’ll ask him as a favor to take a few minutes off the renovation and pop over to your house to take a look.

Rose

Okay, thank you.

It’s just a text message, but I swear I can feel her disappointment in those three short words.

You’re welcome to use my tub. It’s a big one, and there’s plenty of hot water.

I don’t expect her to take me up on the offer, but when the message shows as read but no reply follows, regret settles in the pit of my stomach. First, I’m dismissive, then I’m a creepy old monster. My big fingers fumbling over the tiny alphabet, I’m in the middle of explaining that it wasn’t meant suggestively when a new message pops up on her side of the screen.

Rose

Is now good?

Come on over. I’ll meet you at the patio door.

Rose

Be there in a couple of minutes.

Two emojis. The rose one makes sense—it’s her name. But the blushing face one? Does it mean something, or is that just how humans text each other? Do I want it to mean something? Yes, but also no. I’m a fucking mess.

The priority now is getting my cock under control before Rose is at the door. Fat chance of that when my mind is running wild with scenarios, all of which include my naked, willing Rose. A couple of minutes isn’t enoughtime to rub one out, and I’m not convinced that’d keep my cock down, anyway. All I can do is get dressed and hope for the best.

I spring out of bed and into the walk-in closet, grabbing the jeans I put on after my shower. The belt is still through the loops, and the jangle of the buckle gives me what’ll either be the best or worst idea I’ve ever had.

Clothes in one fist, I head for the Jack and Jill bathroom vanity and rifle through the drawer for the roll of first-aid tape.

When the options are to deflate or get pushed down and taped to the inside of a leg, you’d think a hard-on would soften up pretty quickly. Not the case. Multiple loops of tape later, I pull my pants on over the uncomfortable solution, throw on a t-shirt, and make it to the back door just as Rose is raising her hand to knock.

Rose always looks pretty. Tonight, waving her fingers from the other side of the glass, her hair up in a loose bun, and dressed in a tiny pink robe that accents her hourglass curves, she’s mouthwateringly sexy.

Sandwiched between my thigh and pant leg, my cock puts that first-aid tape to the test.

I slide the door open and motion her into the house without saying a word. If it’s rude, I can’t help it. It’s a miracle I keep my hungry mating rumble from rattling the windows. Especially when she passes close enough in front of me that the minimal amount of silky fabric she’s wearing brushes against my outstretched arm. The urge to grab hold of the material and tug it off her body is like nothing I’ve experienced. Every urge andthought is focused on one thing, one truth, one goal:mate.

“Thank you for the offer,” she says, her voice snapping me out of the narrow funnel. “I didn’tneeda bath before bed, but it always helps me relax and…” Standing in front of me, her cheeks brighten to cherry-blossom pink, and she shakes her head, making tendrils of red dance against her shoulders. “Never mind.”

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