Page 3 of Sweet Punk
When we reach Duke Hall, I heave out a breath, bringing him to the bottom of the stairs. “I think the smartest thing to do is to hit the gender-neutral bathroom on the main floor.” We’re almost there. He doesn’t answer, so I assume he’s in agreement. “Steps up. Ready?” I grip his waist firmly and peek up at him. He nods stoically. We climb the stairs without issue and stop momentarily at the door so that I can hold my ID up for the scanner. The light flashes green and the door lock makes a clicking sound, indicating that it’s open. I grasp the handle with my free hand and tug it open. “Okay. And a step inside.” I release him so he can step in before me, then am right back to guiding him. “We’re stopping here.” Once I’ve got us inside, I lock the door behind us.
We stop at the sink, and I blow out a breath, not completely sure where to start. Chewing on my lip, I tug on the hem of his hoodie. “This has pepper spray all over it. Let’s get it off you.” I shrug out from under his arm. “We’d better be careful how we do this.”
Kellan grunts a bit then reaches back to grasp it at the nape and tug it off.
“Wait. Can you pull your arms out of the sleeves? Then I can help you get your head through the neck without getting anything more on your face.” He makes a little harrumphing noise but nods his understanding as he works to pull his arms in.
I slide my hands up to get under the material, inadvertently touching his chest—his very bare, very solid, very muscular chest—before I manage to get it gathered in my hands. He flinches hard, but whether it’s because I touched him or he’s hurting, I don’t know. I begin to feel a slight burning sensation where I must have come into contact with some pepper spray, and it hits me how bad off he might be. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” I grit my teeth as I work the collar wide and slip it over his head without touching his face. I set the offending hoodie on the counter next to us and hurriedly turn on the faucet, making sure it’s running as cold as I can get it.
He exhales harshly before bending at the waist. The poor guy is still blinking like crazy. He cups his hands to catch the water and splashes it up into his face. Repeat. Over and over again.
I try to quell the sarcastic voice in my head that says I’msosure he wants my advice—but I can’t keep quiet. “Kellan, you’ve gotta try to keep your eyes open. What if you turn your head toward me, and I pour water over your eye? Maybe that’ll help flush it out a little better.”
For several beats, he hesitates, then murmurs thickly, “Yeah. Okay.” Turning his head, he angles it as best he can over the sink. “We’re making a huge fucking mess.” His words end on a rough cough that immediately makes me feel like shit all over again.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just water.” I cup some water in my hands. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
I take a deep breath and carefully pour the cool liquid directly into his eye. “How was that?”
He nods, blinking rapidly. Water clings to his lashes. “Again.”
We repeat the process several times for that eye, then switch sides and do the same for the other. At one point, he grasps my hip, holding on… for balance? I don’t care. He can do anything he wants right now.
“Okay. What do you think? Should I go again?”
Kellan shakes his head over the sink. His hair is drenched, and little droplets fling everywhere, some landing on me. It doesn’t faze me. I want him to be okay. He rises to his full height and takes several breaths. His gaze is pinned somewhere over my head, his jaw rigid. He’s holding his hands in front of his chest like he wants to touch his skin, but—oh man, I think he’s afraid to.
The pepper spray must have seeped through his hoodie. Or maybe we got some on him when we removed it. Either way—
“I need to…” He turns back to the sink and douses his chest with water, over and over. Now we really do have a mess. It’s like a pipe burst in here.
And oh… oh my. As I watch him, heat streaks through me. I’ve never had this reaction to him before. I’m totally used to seeing Kellan shirtless. It’s like his natural state of being when he’s “home” in his suite. It’s not that I haven’t looked. Because who wouldn’t? But all this skin on display, glistening with water? Holy crap. It’s something else entirely.
Kellan is magnificent. And I’ve never been in such close proximity before, so… I look. At all the muscles, at the tattoos, at the entire delicious package. I’m nervous I’m going to start drooling or something as the poor guy continues to splash water over his very cut body. Droplets cascade over him, and my greedy eyes follow every single one as they trail downward until they disappear, absorbed by the waistband of his jeans.
“Can you grab me a few paper towels?” His deep voice hits me square in the chest, dragging me from my lust-induced stupor.
I pivot on my heel. “Yeah, sure.” Only, the stupid dispenser is empty. My gaze flicks around the small room. Toilet paper is definitely not the answer here. I look down at my T-shirt, and without another thought, I peel it over my head.
Kellan’s brows raise.
“Sorry, no paper towels. We can use my T-shirt.” I hold it clutched in my hands between us. He stares at me, which is odd because up until now, he’s been blinking fiercely. His gaze dips down to the teal-colored lacy bralette I’m wearing. Realization strikes as his eyes roam over my body that while the cups of this cute top have a bit of material backing them, the rest of it is fairly sheer, which is why I generally wear it under other things. For all intents and purposes, it’s see-through. And Kellan… is looking.
Hoping to diffuse some of the awkwardness, I step closer, reaching up to blot his face carefully, then his neck. As I touch the shirt to his throat, I feel his rough swallow. He’s staring down at me, fixated on my top… or maybe what’s under it. My heart jackhammers in my chest.
And then it’s my turn to swallow. Why haven’t I handed him the shirt? Why don’t I let him dry himself? I don’t want to think about the answer because maybe I’ll stop what I’m doing. And I donotwant to stop since my hands and this lucky shirt are gliding over his pecs. Through the fabric, my fingers brush over one of his nipples. I pause a fraction of a second, looking up at him with my lip clenched so tightly between my teeth that it hurts. Hurts. So. Good.
His ragged breath exits his mouth, and it feathers over my forehead. I blink a few times, hesitating before my hands drift lower. He doesn’t stop me, but his jaw tenses and his cut abs jump at my touch. I slide the shirt over his stomach, soaking up the water.
That’s when I glance down, noting the deep V lines leading into his pants. I want to inspect this part of his body with the utmost care. I can’t resist running my shirt along one and then the other.
My breath hitches when I find myself fantasizing about touching him with my fingertips. And maybe my lips and tongue. Another wave of heat washes over me, making me a little dizzy.
He clears his throat, finally catching my hands between us with his. He softly murmurs, “I’ve gotta go.”
Embarrassed, my cheeks flame pink, and I stutter. “O-oh. Right. Y-eah, me too.” I bunch my now damp shirt in my hands, my fingers reflexively squeezing it. I can’t put this back on.
