Page 33 of Stick Handled

I’m frozen, rooted to the spot, my pulse quickening with every inch of skin she reveals. Her movements are slow, languid. My fists clench at my sides, a heady rush pulsing through me as I watch her, utterly captivated. She removes her top and lets it fall to the floor, leaving her in her bottoms and a pink lace bra.

Can’t breathe, can’t think.

My control, usually iron-clad, is splintering apart. She’s in my thoughts, in every damn place I can’t afford her to be. My dick presses against my zipper painfully, begging to be freed. My hand moves of its own accord, reaching down as I watch her. I close my eyes in a final, useless attempt to do the right thing. When I open them again, Avery’s removed her bottoms and is standing in a matching set.

Oh, fuck me.The sight of her in her underwear makes me grit my teeth so hard my jaw hurts.

Pink lace wraps around her ribcage, covering her breasts, the other piece covering her ass.

She saidyes. She looked me dead in the eye and said yes.

The lights are off, so the chance of her or anyone seeing me watch her is slim—but not zero. And for some reason, the thought of her looking out her window, looking for me just like I am for her, and seeing me…

“Damien, what the fuck are you doing?” I mutter to myself, shaking my head as if that will somehow clear the haze of lust clouding my mind. But it doesn’t work. All it does is make me imagine her voice whispering my name, laced with desire. Those nervous, wide eyes filled with lust instead.

I lean closer to the window, pressing my left hand against the cool glass. My right one drifts down to the bulge in my pants, aching for release. I undo the button and slide my zipper down slowly, savoring the friction as I free myself. The head of my cock springs out, glistening in the dim light, and I wrap my fist around it, stroking gently at first.

“Fuck…” I groan, watching her move across the room. She bends over to collect her clothes off the floor, giving me a perfect view of her ass. I squeeze my eyes shut, scared that if I stare too long, nothing will stop me from going there and leaving my bitemarks all over her delicate body.

I open my eyes again a second too soon. The lace of her panties stretches taut over the cheeks, and I swear I can see the outline of her pussy through the fabric. My grip tightens on my dick, moving faster now, needing to get off before I lose my mind completely and break in through her fucking window.

She stands up, turning slightly, and I catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted as she breathes deeply. She looks so unaware of the audience she has. My lips stretch into a smile. I wonder if she ever thinks about me when she’s alone in her room like this. If she ever imagines my hands on her, touching her.

“Open your eyes, Avery,” I whisper, barely audible. “Look at me.”

But she doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead, she reaches for her bathrobe.

My thumb brushes over the head of my cock, smearing pre-cum over the sensitive skin. I slide my hand down, pumping harder, faster, my breath coming in short gasps.

She wraps the robe around herself, covering up just as I’m about to come apart at the seams. The sight of her walking toward the ensuite bathroom sends another wave of frustration washing over me. I want to see more. I want to see everything.

“Don’t go,” I whimper, almost like a child being denied a treat.

I follow her with my eyes, watching her disappear behind the bathroom door. The light flickers on inside, flooding the room with a soft glow, and I can see her shadow on her bedroom floor. What would it feel like to be there with her? To stand under the shower, our bodies pressed together, slick with water and sweat.

My hand falters for a moment, caught in the fantasy of being there with her, feeling her soft skin against mine and tasting the droplets of water as they roll down her neck.

“You’re losing it, man,” I berate myself, dragging my thoughts back to reality. But it’s too late. The image is already seared into my brain, and I can’t shake it.

I start stroking myself again, this time with purpose. My other hand grips the windowsill, knuckles white, as I imagine her under the shower. I imagine the water running over her breasts, swirling around her nipples, teasing them to hardness.

I can’t take it anymore. My body tenses, and I let out a strangled cry as I come, spilling my release into my hand. The stars outside blur into streaks of light, and I slump back, panting heavily, my heart hammering in my chest.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the mess I’ve made, feeling both drained and crazed with lust. Then I look back at the window, where her shadow is still visible, moving gracefully under the shower.

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper, but there’s no answer—only the silence of the night and the faint sound of the music from the outside speakers.

The next morning hits me hard as I drag myself to Rowan’s gym. My body’s still taut with the need she left simmering in me, her wide, trusting eyes flickering through my mind every time I close mine. Even now, hours later, the burn of her, the softness in her voice when she said “yes,” is still curling through my veins.

Rowan’s already there, warming up, and I force myself to push back every single thought of her. One wrong look, one slip, and he’ll see right through me.

“Finally. Thought you’d flaked out on me.” He laughs as I walk in.

“Nah, just overslept,” I grunt, rolling my shoulders. Guilt nips at me. If he knew, if he evensensedanything, the fallout would be brutal. But I can’t let her go. She’s wrapped herself into my mind in a way I can’t seem to untangle.

Rowan goes quiet as he starts lifting, his gaze growing distant.

“What about you? You look like something’s bothering you,” I groan as I stretch. Rowan just releases a long, deep breath. “Damn. Last night’s date was that bad?” I chuckle.

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