His bedroom door lays open, and I can see his bed straight ahead, the headboard against the opposite wall as I walk toward his room. Every time I’ve passed through here to get my showers this past week, it’s felt awkward. Being in his room alone.
I don’t snoop, but it’s tempting.
His bed is always made. A little haphazardly, blankets just tossed back up in a rush, but I can’t help but be a little taken back. If not for my stepmom, my father’s bed would never be made.
Heading for the bathroom, I see the pictures of Cole from birth to senior year portraits lining the frame of his dresser mirror. A flat screen hangs on the wall, it’s power cord dangling and unplugged. A model schooner sits on his bureau with only a light layer of dust on the white sails.
And an old watch with a worn leather band I’ve never seen him wear sits in a dish on his dresser. There’s no other jewelry anywhere.
Aside from the bed, the two dressers, the TV, and the bedside tables, the room is minimal. Nothing on the walls, of course, one black lamp with a gray shade, and a strong afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the partially open blinds.
I hate that he lived here alone for so long. Someone needs to spice this place up. Not my sister.
Swinging the bathroom door closed behind me, I lock it and reach into the shower, turning on the water. I set my change of clothes on the sink counter and strip down, pulling out a towel from the shelf and hanging it on the hook outside the shower.
Jealous yet? I shake my head, my ire rising again as I step into the shower and close the glass door.
I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to see her push him around like I know she definitely can. So much is a game to my sister, and she hides her insecurities behind flighty behavior and sarcasm.
Pike’s not like that. He needs someone calm. Someone who knows how to keep him calm.
Someone who can wrap their arms around his neck and make the rest of the world disappear.
Tipping my head back, I wet my hair and close my eyes, feeling the heat of the water pound my shoulders and neck. Chills spread down my arms, and my head suddenly swims with the pleasure of the warmth.
Turning around, I plant my hands on the wall and roll my head under the spray, finally coming back up and leaning against the wall behind me as I push my hair back over my head.
My stomach curdles. If Cole wasn’t in the picture and Pike came into the bar one night and sat on a stool and talked to me…I’d like him. I’d really like him.
I’d want him.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. God, my sister is right. Something is happening. It’s been happening, actually. Does everyone else notice, too? Does he notice?
Shit.
Opening my eyes, they immediately fall on his body wash ahead of me sitting in the caddy. Cole usually uses Axe, but he hasn’t pulled his stuff out of the other shower yet, probably just using his dad’s Irish Spring.
I cast a quick look toward the glass, making sure I’m alone, and pull the bottle off the rack and pop the lid.
Little suds fizz around the opening from the guys’ showers that morning, and I close my eyes, bringing Pike’s body wash to my nose. The heady fragrance fills my head, and tingles spread across my skin. It’s cheap soap, but it’s no frills, does the job, and reminds me of jeans, lumber, and the barest bristle of a five-o’clock shadow on a man’s jaw.
It’s him.
My throat swells like I’m taking a gulp of water, and I swallow, feeling disappointed that nothing is there. I lick my lips, breathing hard.
I suspend reality somewhere in the back of my mind and absently squeeze a drop of the soap into my hand. Bring my palm up to my nose, I smell again, my breath catching, my eyes falling closed, and my clit instantly throbbing.
Should I go after her? I remember his rare, cocky smirk that excited me last night. I didn’t want him going after anyone, but God, I’m desperate to see what that looks like. What is he like with a girl?
You think I can’t handle her? I’ve been around the block.
The hand with the soap falls down my neck, glides over my collar bone, and washes down my breast and over my nipple. Handle her? “Not her,” I mouth to myself.
My fingers graze down my stomach as I lean back on the wall, and I slide my hand between my legs, biting my lip and shuddering at the touch.
I slowly start to rub myself, my fingers working little circles on my hardening clit.
“No,” I whisper, opening my eyes. “Stop, stop, stop…”
I force Cole into my head. His hands on my body. His lips on my ear. The way he buries his face in my neck, so I can never see his eyes.
Oh, baby.
Fuck, baby, fuck.
You feel good. So good.
His hands grip my ass, and I rub the nub harder. Faster. Chasing the momentum I just had. The orgasm taunts me low in my belly and wants out so hard.
“Cole,” I say, closing my eyes again. “Go harder.”
I spin around, facing the wall and pressing myself into it with my hand still buried between my legs. He’s behind me, demanding in. He wants to fuck.
I slip a finger inside and start moving on it. I lay my cheek against the wall, trying to go fast, so I can’t think. Maybe if it’s just fucking, I can come.
My finger is wet, and I slide it back out and rub my clit again. I want to come. It’s right there. But I can’t. The muscles in my arm strain, and my lungs ache for air.
Please.
But it doesn’t come. My fingers slow, and I exhale, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
I bite my lip again, aching so badly. I’m so wet.
And then, my mind in a fog and my will gone, I crawl inside my head where no one else but me can see.
I hide and give in, because no one but me has to know. In that moment. In my dirty thoughts and torrid little fantasy, I want him. I want to be for him. Our little secret.
Hidden.
“Such a good girl,” a new voice whispers in my ear.
Pike’s voice.
His body is behind mine now, larger and taller, caging me to the wall. His hand fists the back of my hair, and he pulls my head back slowly, leaning in to flick my lip with his tongue. I whimper.
“Taking care of the house the way I like,” he taunts, and my hand becomes his hand in my head as he takes over fingering me. “Cooking my meals the way I like. Pretty little thing for me to look at. You’re doing so well, Jordan.”
I keep my eyes closed, feeling for his lips, my whole body pulsing with an electric current at the taste of his warm mouth and the water of the shower cascading over his hot skin. I can feel his cock, hard and ready behind me.
“I need you to do everything a woman does now,” he instructs. “Everything a good girl does for a man. Can you do that?”
I nod, panting. “Yes.”
My orgasm is cresting again, my nipples press painfully into the tiled wall, and it feels so good between my legs. I want him. I want him on me. I want to know what he feels like.
Reaching behind me, I don’t think. I grab a loofah and slide it between my legs. The netting chafes my clit in a way than sends me over the edge. I roll my hips into it, wanting to feel anything, because it’s him in my head and that’s enough. His smell surrounds me, his mouth sucks my neck, and he’s hefting me up, so he can slip inside me. It’s rough and hard, his hands on my tits one minute and his mouth stealing my breath the next. God, his tongue tastes good.
The orgasm tingles deep, building and building, and Cole’s father is fucking me so good.
I come, the wave washing over me, and I cry out in silence, breathing hard but making no sound. God. I collapse against the wall, nearly crumbling as I shudder, the orgasm drifting down my legs and making my knees week. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake through it until it ebbs away, leaving me light-headed.
When the shower stops spinning and my breathing has returned to normal, I open my eyes, a flood of emotions rushing me.
Oh, my God. I want to cry.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why would I do that? And with his father? I…
I’m confused and stressed out and seeking comfort in a guy, because he’s been nice to me a couple times. Jesus.
No matter what happens with Cole and me, Pike Lawson is off limits. Don’t forget that. There are hundreds of men out there just like him. He’s not special.
It can’t be him. Ever.
I straighten, taking a deep breath. Looking down, though, I see the loofah in my hand isn’t my pink one. It’s Pike’s silver one.
“Shit.”
A few suds are still in it from his shower this morning.
And I used it to orgasm. Awesome.
I groan inwardly.
Climbing out of the shower, I bury it under tissue paper in the trash can and make a mental note to get him a new one next time I’m out.
And some different body wash, I think, too.