I haven’t come since our last ride.
That’s why I have a raging hard dick in my jeans.
Not because seeing Bronte lying there sends every lustful thought down my brainstem straight to my dick.
Mentally fighting with my dick, I turn away and leave the room.
BRONTE
The first thing I feel is pain.
The first thing I hear is my pulse racing through my ears.
The first thing I smell is him.
Because I’m cocooned in his sheets as I slowly wake to a motherfucker of a hangover.
I stir and stretch but don’t open my eyes because I know the moment I let the light in, my hangover will slice through my brain like it’s made of butter.
I let my mind drift. Last night had been fun and distracting which is a good thing. Surrounded by the MC, I felt safe. Like I could relax and breathe, and it’s been months since I’ve felt like that, maybe even longer. To be honest, it’s getting to the point where I can’t even remember living without the slow prickle of fear and anxiety creeping up my spine.
I frown and shake the thought out of my mind, determined not to go there. Instead, I draw in a deep breath and stretch again, and Jack falls into my thoughts. His scent lingers in the linen wrapped around me—it’s comforting and warm and sexy as hell. The thought triggers a physical response in a body that hasn’t climaxed in months, and a surprising, pleasurable throb takes up between my legs.
I keep my eyes shut and let his scent settle on me. Let it caress my skin like silk. Let it fill my head with the heady notes of musk and man. Feeling a spark of excitement, my hand slides down my body and settles over the skimpy lace of my G-string. I breathe in another deep breath of him and jolt when my fingers slide beneath the fabric and through the wetness.
Riley once told me that pleasure receptors reach the brain quicker than pain receptors, so making my body hum with desire seems like the most responsible thing to do, given my hangover.
My pulse quickens as my body wakes.
Lust curls between my thighs.
The throb is delicious—a warm and pulsating beat reverberating through to my pelvis.
Sucking in my lower lip, I circle and rub and tease the little nub of nerves that offers so much temptation. I gasp. The tension is sweet and tight and building steadily.
I start to squirm.
Start to breathe heavily.
Happiness floats in.
I’m going to come.
All the telltale signs are there. The restless legs. The coil of tension unfurling in my belly. My lips part with a sigh. My heart speeds up. My breath tightens in my throat, and a sweet surge of bliss tells me an orgasm isn’t far away.
Anticipation crashes over me because it’s been months since I’ve been able to come.
Months of trying.
Months of nothing because my head is so fucked up with anxiety, confusion, and fear.
And now, finally—finally—it’s going to happen.
I let out a gasp, my fingers racing, my heart pounding, my toes curling.
I’m going to come.
But in an act of utter self-sabotage, the sudden realization that it’s finally going to happen surges forward and chases the climax away, and I want to fucking cry because I’m so desperate for the release.
Frustration prickles across my skin.
But then I think of him. and my excitement roars back to life.
Him.
Jack.
He’s all around me. His smell. His things. And it’s everything—a perfect blend of sweet musk and man.
He lies in this bed.
He dreams in this bed.
He fucks in this bed.
The imagery sends a new wave of lust rising inside me.
I can almost feel him. Those big arms wrapped around me. His strong body sliding against mine as he whispers filthy words of encouragement in my ear.
It’s wrong.
But it’s exactly what I need to break the drought and send me over the edge.
My toes anchor to the bed. My legs stiffen. Wetness coats my fingers, and I have to bite down on my lip as my orgasm ignites. Jack. His glorious naked body swings before my eyes. His broad chest and big arms. His thick cock. I can hear him moan. Hear him groan my name. Hear him command me to come. I cry out. The pleasure is insurmountable, crashing over me as my body pounds with a climax so sweet and so raw, and so overdue, it overpowers me with a rush of all-consuming ecstasy.
Crying out again, I press my head deeper into the pillow and disappear into the blissful world behind closed lids.
Jack.
My breath shakes as the pleasure slowly recedes, and I’m left with nothing but a pounding heartbeat and a wet, throbbing pussy.
I sit up and start to laugh, but it quickly fades as a wave of nausea crashes over me, and I have to race to the adjoining bathroom to throw up.