Page 47 of Dean

I just let him tuck himself against me as I breathe in his essence, the connection we share.

I only move when he does, his body sliding against mine, a mortified groan escaping his throat.

“Oh god. Oh, fuck me,” he says.

He rolls onto his back and gasps when he realizes he’s only wearing those tiny panties that I looked at far too long last night.

“What did I do?” He inhales quickly, and I shock him by grumbling a response.

“You came home drunk and stripped naked in my bed.”

“I did not!” He’s aghast, looking completely horrified.

I can’t help but chuckle at how mortified he seems. “Yeah, and you might have held my hand all night long.”

“Oh, don’t tell me. Oh fuck. What did I say?” His cheeks are bright red, his eyes wide. “What did I say, Dean?”

“You didn’t say anything. Said it was a secret.”

“Oh, thank god.” He flops backward and stares at the ceiling. “I havesomedignity left then.”

He turns his head and meets my amused stare.

“We will never talk about this.”

“I may have to talk about it,” I reply, and he scowls.

“We will never talk about it. Ever again. Now close your eyes. I need to get up.”

“Avery, I already saw everything last night.”

But still, I let my eyelids close, and I hear him roll out of bed with a pained grunt. “I hate Christy. Those drinks were potent. I don’t trust her or Beau. Jesus, what an idiot.”

His footsteps disappear from my room and a moment later, the bathroom door shuts and the shower turns on.

Well, he didn’t die, I think as I turn and sit up, scrubbing at my face with a sigh. I did my job. I was a good roommate and friend.

With a satisfied grunt, I stand up and see my cock hard and pressed out from my pajama pants.

I stare down at it for a moment before adjusting myself.

Just morning wood, I tell myself. Nothing more.

It has nothing to do with Avery mostly naked in my bed last night. Not at all.

I tell myself that while I step into my bathroom and while I jack off in the shower. I don’t think about his long legs and his pert ass.

I don’t think about him at all.

When I walk into the kitchen, Avery is there, his hair pulled back, his eyes slightly squinted. He looks like he’s having the hangover from hell.

“My head is throbbing.”

He takes a long sip of his tea and sighs. “I won’t ever do that again. No more drinking.”

“You’re young. You will.”

“I won’t, Dean.” His eyes meet mine and he looks bashful. “And I’m really sorry about all of that. I imposed and it won’t happen again.”

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