Page 262 of Branded
I could get off on anything Jules.
Case in point, my orgasm coiling at the base of my spine, exploding out through my body, hot jets of my cum landing in a hand towel I luckily managed to grab in time.
Fucking teenager shit, coming in a hand towel.
Fucking teenager shit, jerking off all the time because I couldn’t get the girl I wanted.
And it didn’t even help.
My cock was still hard.
I still ached for Jules.
“Fuck,” I muttered again—apparently the only word my brain could manage to get across my tongue. After cleaning myself up, I strode naked to the closet and made sure that piece of dirty laundry ended up in my hamper (because I wasn’t a fucking animal).
Then I ignored my still-erect dick and stomped back into the bathroom, wrenching open the shower door.
Hot water.
Another round of jerking off because I couldn’t keep my mind from Jules.
I was going to be chafed if I kept this shit up.
Thankfully, round two got my dick to behave, and I deliberately kept my mind from the stubborn, gorgeous Jules as I got dressed.
But as I started to leave my closet, I saw the money on the shelf.
I grabbed it, set it deliberately on my dresser, right next to my wallet.
Jules could start this fight.
But I was going to damn well finish it.
Six
Jules
“Ready, Mom?” Ethan called, his feet stomping across the floor.
And once again, I thanked the universe that we’d found a ground-floor apartment. Keeping on my neighbors’ good side would be impossible with the way my little guy stomped around.
Elephants had nothing on him.
And his voice.
Sweet baby Jesus, I loved my son.
But at zero-dark-thirty (okay, at seven-thirty in the morning after I’d worked late), there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make the lack of sleep bearable. His little voice was nails on a chalkboard.
I wasn’t a morning person.
I hadn’t ever been.
Which had made the late nights with Ethan as a colicky newborn and later, working at CeCe’s, not a trial—or not as much as a typical mom, I supposed.
I could stay up through the night, and do it many nights on end, without turning into a lunatic.
But being coherent for the school drop-off line?
