Page 16 of When the Stars Rise
The sheets are still rumpled, all disheveled as if we’d had a wild night of sex when nothing could be farther from the truth.
My eyes lower to her breasts. A perfect handful, with rosy nipples that have hardened into peaks. Fucking air con.
She shimmies into pale pink panties trimmed in black lace, making a big show of it. It’s a matching set, and she puts on the bra next, sliding her hair over one shoulder and taking her sweet time to fasten the hook in the back.
Neither of us has said a word. Not a single fucking word. It’s so quiet I can hear the sound of my own ragged breaths.
My chest feels tight, and my jeans feel even tighter.
Finally, I can’t take any more of this, so I grab my backpack and helmet and stalk to the door. My hand freezes on the doorknob when Hayley calls my name.
“Yeah?” My voice sounds strained.
“Maybe you can film me naked.”
I grind my teeth so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if my molars turned to sawdust. She’s really asking for it, isn’t she? “The world doesn’t need to see you naked.”Only I do.
“It’s art, though, right? The human body.Sex.” She draws out the word, her voice low and seductive, making it sound like a triple X at the end.
I exhale loudly and yank open the door with so much force I’m surprised it doesn’t fly off the hinges.
“Guess I’ll see you in Birmingham,” she calls cheerily. “Drive safely.”
I nod, rendered mute, and bolt out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time in my haste to get out the door.
“Where’s the fire?” Dean asks, looking up from his phone when I burst out the front door and nearly run him over.
I pause long enough to glare at him. “You might want to re-think those words.”
“Yeah.” He winces and pushes his hand through his messy brown hair. “Fuck.”
I’m still not sure how I feel about Dean Bouchon. I never fully understood why Hayley moved to LA to live with him, breaking Shiloh’s heart in the process.And mine.
But there’s too much baggage to unpack, and I don’t have the time or energy to do it. So I shove it out of my head and rev the engine of my Ducati, just to be a dick, before I rocket down the street like the hounds of hell are chasing me.
On the five-hour drive to Birmingham, I have sex on the brain. It’s all I can think about. Her naked body. The peaks of her nipples. Her legs wrapped around me while I drive into her.
Fuck me.
The roar of the engine, all that power between my legs, is not helping matters. This bike was built for speed, not comfort. By the time I cross the Mississippi state line, I’m hard as stone and seriously contemplating pulling over at a rest stop to rub one out.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This has to be an all-time low.
Ten minutes later, I’m the perv locked in a stall in a public restroom with my dick in my hand. I close my eyes and imagine her. Bent over the dining room table, legs spread, back arched. She’d be so tight, clenching my cock...
Jesus.
My orgasm comes on quickly and suddenly, and I lean over the toilet and shoot the evidence into it.
At this rate, I’ll spend the next month and a half taking cold showers and getting better acquainted with my right hand.
I wash my hands at the sink and dry them with a paper towel from the dispenser before dunking it into the trash can on my way out the door.
My phone pings with a text when I straddle my motorcycle.
Hayley: You’re probably on the road, but I wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you. Thank you for dropping everything to come with me. I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Be safe. Love you. xoxo
