Page 34 of Dean

But as soon as it appears, it dissipates until all I’m left with is the feel of him against me.

“Up we go,” he murmurs and then stands with a grunt.

I gasp as I hold on, my legs moving around his back, my lips inches from his. And my dick, of course, is pressed against his lower stomach. Not that either of us addresses that.

He can’t touch me like that and expect me not to get hard.

Has he looked at himself in the mirror lately?

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” I say as he walks me to my room.

His lips twitch. “Didn’t think I was strong enough?”

“Oh, you fishing for compliments, old man?” I ask as he enters my room.

He sets me down on the bed, my legs and arms unraveling from him.

“Seems I might be,” he replies, and I just blink up at him. I don’t even know what to say. I’d compliment him all damn day if he’d let me. But I have to remember he’s straight and I work for him.

There are some lines you just shouldn’t cross.

Not that we haven’t already crossed some. He touched my thighs. He’s most likely seen my hard dick straining out from the confines of my loose pants.

I don’t know whether the line exists anymore or if perhaps the line is just extremely bent.

“Thanks for coming on a ride with me,” he says softly.

“Thanks for the invite.”

We stare at each other, and he taps the doorjamb.

“Right. Night, Avery,” he says softly, and then before I can even squeak out a response, the door shuts, and I’m left alone.

I stare at that closed door and then shift my gaze to the closet. Inside are some of his clothes. I saw them when I was putting my stuff away when I moved in. I may have touched them a little too much and too often. But now I’m alone and horny.

I have nothing to lose.

I stand up and move toward the closet, pulling out a jersey. Peeking at the back, I see his last name across the shoulders.

Hayes.

I sure as fuck know this isn’t Ben’s jersey. Hell no. That guy doesn’t have an athletic bone in his body.

No, this is Dean’s. I put it up to my nose and inhale. Fuck yes.

Without another thought, I strip down and press the shirt against my face once more, my hand wrapping around my cock and stroking. I envision him standing there watching me, his tattoos peeking out from the bottom of his shirt, his own hand snaking down the front of his pants to touch himself.

In my mind, he wants me just as much as I want him.

Put on the jersey, Avery. I want to see you come with it on.

I pull it up, screwing my eyes shut, and come almost immediately. Damn it all to heaven. This is clearly becoming a habit—one that I don’t want to break.

One that I can’t break.

After cleaning myself up with a heaving chest and gasping for air, I pull the jersey on over my naked body and crawl into bed, loving how the fabric of it rubs against my bare skin.

Love how it reminds me of him.

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