Page 14 of Bad At Love

He wondered if he should leave when he spied the full-length mirror sitting in the foyer. The stubborn woman would try to lift it on her own again.

Sinking into a deep crouch, he lifted the mirror. His arms strained as he carried it up the stairs slowly. The damn thing was heavy as fuck.

His forehead was sweating and his heart pumping hard when he reached the tight landing. Nudging her bedroom door, he placed the mirror along the wall opposite the bed. He refused to peep at her private space, even though every inch of him wanted to. Walking back into the landing, he leaned against the wall and caught his breath.

Since the two bedrooms shared the one bathroom, it sat in the middle of the landing. Now that he could breathe normally again, DP could hear the shower running. Steam billowed out through the half open door and he remembered Chaaru telling him that the exhaust fan wasn’t working.

His back was to the bathroom but it was too late. Images of her silky-smooth skin, water running in tantalizing trails over her thick curves, bombarded him. Instantly, his shaft thickened, pushing indecently against his pants, as if he were a randy teenager.

He rubbed a hand over his sweaty face and cursed himself. Was this going to be the norm every time he was near her? Things had been bad enough all evening without him sporting wood at the sight of her.

He’d never been so confused in his life, never felt…so stuck in place, paralyzed by either choice. Groaning, he adjusted his crotch and pushed off the wall. He’d leave her a note and go home. Figure this out later.

Just as he moved, his name drifted through the open bathroom door, followed by a deep, husky groan that made the hair on his arms stand to attention. DP stilled, rooted to the spot as if someone had bound him to it. No, not someone, but Chaaru.

His name floated through the air again, caught up in a torrent of groans and moans from her lips. Every muscle in him tightened in near-agony as he listened to her chant his name while she… jerked herself off. His brain easily supplied the missing images.

Water rivulets streaming down her breasts and pooling at her core. Slender fingers strumming her clit, body undulating as she snuck a finger or two inside, and her lips…whispering his name over and over again, as if he was all she needed.

And then her falling apart, clit throbbing, pussy contracting around his name, making him an indelible part of her fantasy.

Her shuddering cry made him realize she had finished. His cock was painfully erect by the time he came down. Like a caged animal, he walked around the small living room, pulse drumming through his entire body.

Bowing to the need riding him, he walked into the bathroom downstairs, locked it behind him and turned the shower on.

His fingers shook as he unzipped his jeans and took his cock out. The first touch, just the stroke of his thumb over the head, nearly buckled his knees. He gathered the pre-cum and imagined painting it all over Chaaru’s pouty lips.

Panting, he stroked himself faster and faster. And it wasn’t just her curves that filled his mind.

Years’ worth of images ran through his head like a reel. Chaaru smiling, hugging him for the first time, laughing at something he’d said. And today in that asshole’s bedroom, demanding he give her his shirt, and then looking so hot and sexy in it. Her body splayed open on the bed like a feast.

His feast. Only his.

Chaaru sleeping in his car, head lolling on his shoulder.

And then stroking those long fingers, those capable hands over the dips and valleys of her body, imagining they were his hands, his fingers that were pushing her toward the edge… gazing into his eyes, with open desire and naked warmth.

Opening the drawer underneath the sink, he grabbed the bottle of jasmine body oil that she used. One sniff and there was no turning back. God, he loved how that jasmine sank into her skin and sweat and created a scent of its own.

Heat gathered in his balls and ignited up through his cock. Shoulders shaking, breath bellowing, DP shuddered as the hottest, fastest orgasm of his life punched through him. His thighs shook, his back bowed as he spilled all over the shower stall, her name a soft whisper on his lips.

For long seconds, he stayed there, water spraying onto his face. Then stared at himself in the small mirror. The low-watt bulbs drew attention to the harsh lines of his face. But his eyes were feverish, his nostrils flaring, his mouth lax.

Any satisfaction he’d gotten out of hearing his name on her lips waned as aftershocks melted away, leaving a strange vacuum behind.

If she wanted him and he wanted her, why were they not together? When had he turned into such a coward that he couldn’t even tell her how long he’d thirsted after her?

With a long sigh, he tucked himself in, pulled out the detachable shower-head and washed off his cum from the floor and walls. Christ, when was the last time he had jacked off like this, with his heart and soul driving him?

Never.

Yes, he’d enjoyed sex with a variety of partners over the years. But this was something else. Something more. Until now, he hadn’t realized how deeply entrenched his love for Chaaru was in his very cells. In his soul.

He straightened his clothes, washed his hands, ran his fingers through his hair and came back to the living room. For all that his climax had nearly brought him to his knees, the high didn’t last long.

He wanted more. He wanted to go up into that shower and confront her about her feeling for him. Or lust. Right now, even that was enough.

He wanted to fill his hands with her soapy, slippery curves, to hold her while she bucked and blew apart, to pin her under him and kiss the hell out of her until she admitted to what she’d done. Until she was all soft and vulnerable and real underneath him.

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