Page 20 of Hex and the City
Yep. That did it, all right. Boner gone, a hundred percent. I made sure to arrange my face into a scowl before I pulled the door open, not that Leon was worried about my expression. Even out of the corner of my eye I could tell he was checking out my torso. I tried not to look so smug.
I rolled my shoulders, knowing it would make the muscles in my chest ripple. Why not give him a show? Let him look, because I wasn’t about to let him touch. He had a towel slung over his shoulder, a bag of toiletries, presumably, tucked under one arm.
“Thank God,” he said, somehow getting the words out as he hastily cleared his throat. “Thought you were planning to spend the night in there.”
“Would’ve been better than spending it out here,” I grumbled.
Leon hooked a hand under the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it off. He winked. “Yeah. You just keep telling yourself that.”
The door shut behind him, the water turning on not long after. I draped my towel over the back of a chair, free-balling around the room for a bit, as if to assert my dominance. I had to remind myself that it would be very uncivil and wildly inappropriate to spray his side of the room with my musk or rub my junk all over his stuff.
I pulled on a tank top and a pair of old, worn boxers for sleep, than sank into my mattress. It squeaked, defiant and aggressive, a lot like my spontaneous roommate. My eyes settled on a spot on the ceiling. Mold? Blood from some old murder? None of my business.
But as boredom settled in, so did the intrusive, enticing thoughts I had back in the shower. I steadied my breathing, focused on everything but. From the bathroom, Leon moaned in delight at the sensation of hot water blasting his naked, lean, tight body. God. That only made it worse.
Just the thought of the water running undeservedly down the crooks of his body, searching out the crests and valleys of his muscle? The image of his tan skin glistening, those strong but slender hands lathering. Washing his neck, those perfect collarbones. Over his chest. Down his abs. And lower down, to his —
All these filthy ideas I was getting, picturing how he looked beyond that paper-thin wall between us. Did that make me a pervert? Hundred percent, yes. Did it make me feel bad, thinking of him, thinking of touching myself as I thought of him? Not really.
Oh. My hand was resting on my stomach, my fingers just grazing the top of my waistband. When did that happen? I swallowed the saliva that had pooled in my mouth, not at all embarrassed by the understanding that I was drooling over him as much as I would over a prime cut of steak, a slice of chocolate cake.
When did I get so hard? I bit on my bottom lip, my breath hitching as my fingers ventured lower and lower, slipping curiously into the top of my boxers. I hissed at the familiar sensation of the hair at my crotch, guilty and empowered all at once by this awful and wonderful thing I was about to do to myself.
I should have just jerked off in the shower liked I’d planned to. I could have come out of the bathroom relieved, relaxed, prepared to get some shut-eye. But hey, I couldn’t turn back time. I licked my lips, my hips bucking to meet the pressure of my hand. My fingers brushed against the shaft of my cock.
The door clicked open.
Fuck. I never heard the water shut off. Was I that caught up in my fantasy? I pulled my hand out of my boxers so fast, I could have been touching something blistering hot. Which I very nearly was, and that burning, rock-hard sensation in my nether regions was tenting through my undies in a most indecent way.
I couldn’t get soft again until I stroked one out, or until I spent five continuous minutes willing my boner to go down by imagining something wildly unsexy. A mouthful of garlic. A punch to the face. A trip to the dentist. Not working. Couldn’t get that bulge down fast enough.
Leon emerged from the bathroom stripped to his waist, gleaming and wet. The towel defined the insane V-line at his hips, cut off the faintest dusting of hair at his belly, obscene signs that pointed the way down toward his most tantalizing treasure. I flipped hurriedly onto my side, squeezing my thighs together to help hide my erection, maybe pretend to be asleep.
I flipped too fast. I flipped too hard.
The bed frame squeaked, then snapped, two of the legs giving under my weight, the mattress forming a slope. I fell onto the ground. My head just narrowly missed the side table. I groaned at the ceiling with one hand vaguely hovering above my crotch. If getting ejected by a squeaky bed didn’t kill my boner, nothing would.
“That’s tough,” Leon said, standing between our beds, looking down at me with a barely restrained grin. “Well, g’night.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Are you serious? I can’t sleep down here.”
“Hey, sucks to be you.” Leon shrugged. “There’s always the back seat of your car.”
“No way. Not happening. The whole point was to come here so we could get up and spot the plaza from this window.” I clambered up to my feet, gripping the edge of his mattress for support. “I paid for the room, so I’m sleeping in this bed.”
His mouth fell open. “No fair! We’re paying for this room together, remember?”
I crossed my arms and smirked, triumphant. “It’s on my card. The whole amount.”
“Fuck that.” Leon rummaged through his backpack, fished out his wallet, and pulled out some bills. He slammed them on the nightstand. “There. My share of the room. You can stop shoving it in my face, now.”
I kneaded my face with my fingers. This couldn’t be happening. Professional. I had to keep things professional, even if my partner was a junk food-swilling chaos goblin with an annoyingly flirtatious bent.
“Fine! Fine. Then I guess we’ll just have to share this stupid bed and hope it doesn’t fall apart in the night.”
Leon screwed his face up as he pulled a pair of boxers on under his towel, hating the idea as much as I did. Or maybe part of him was pretending like I was, too. He stomped his way to his side of the bed, closer to the window. He flung his towel over another chair, then got into bed. His frame did not squeak. Small mercies.
“Don’t get any funny ideas,” he said, wagging a finger in my face in warning.
