Page 89 of A Real Goode Time

I wanted him in the shower with me.

Yeah, even in my mother’s condo, with her only a few feet away.

I said nothing. Just got up, walked toward the shower. Peeled my shirt off, tossed it aside. Stepped out of my shorts, tossed them the other way. Naked, then. I felt his eyes. His desire.

I turned, pausing in the doorway of the bathroom. I stared at Rhys. Saw the evidence of his desire bulging against the zipper of his jeans. “Rhys…”

He shook his head. “Not here, not like this, Torie. If nothing else, out of respect for your mother and my own qualms…and as much as I want to get in that shower with you, I can’t.”

I bit my lip. “I’ll be thinking about you, then.”

“What are you trying to do to me, goddamit?” he hissed. “I’m trying to be the good guy, here.”

I felt something reaching a full, rolling boil inside me. “Maybe all good all the time is overrated.”

I went to the bedroom door and locked it. I felt that boiling place inside me bubble over. Spill over. Like a steam engine exploding under too much pressure.

Rhys was just watching me. Sitting on the end of the bed, hands on his thighs, gripping hard.

I had to…do…something. Anything to alleviate the need I felt for him. “This is for me, Rhys.”

“What’s for you?” he asked, his voice a ragged whisper.

I knelt in front of him and held his eyes. I saw the moment he understood, and I saw the resistance, his innate goodness trying to win over his own natural need and desire.

I took my hair of the loose, sloppy braid and let it fall around my shoulders. I did not take my eyes off him.

“This is me checking something off my bucket list.” I unbuttoned his jeans. “It’s me doing something I want to do, for my own reasons. Which I might share with you…later, if you want to know them.”

“Tell me now.”

I shook my head. “No.”

I lowered his zipper. Pulled at the jeans and, despite his obvious misgivings, he lifted his ass—I yanked them off, all the way. He sat in tight gray briefs, the front bulging, tented. He wasn’t all the way there, yet. Good. I wanted to take him from limp to coming.

“Take your shirt off,” I told him. “I like looking at you. You’re a beautiful man, Rhys. You have an incredible body.”

“It’s mostly genetics.”

“Don’t be modest.”

He laughed. “Fine. I haven’t had time to work out since I met you, but I do, a lot. And I often go long periods without eating. It results in a decent body.”

I watched him peel his shirt off, baring those delicious abs. “No, it results in a glorious, divine, absolutely wicked body.”

“If you say so,” he murmured.

I tugged at his briefs, and he lifted to let me slip them off. And then he was naked, and his cock was curled like a comma against his thigh, not quite completely flaccid—which meant the giant bulge I’d seen before was just…him, flaccid. God, he had an amazing dick.

I ran my hands up his thighs and watched him tense. “Don’t say anything, Rhys.” I kissed his leg, just outside and above his knee. “Unless it’s my name, or to tell me how good it feels.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “Why, Torie?”

I held on to the outsides of his thighs and kissed up near his right hipbone. “I told you. I want to. This has nothing to do with our conversation; that whole are we/aren’t we, will we/ won’t we thing. I know what I want, and I know the time for it is not this moment. This is…just me being horny, and you being here.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed, as I kissed his belly, above his navel. “I want—”

“I don’t care what you want,” I interrupted. “Not right now. Right now, I’m doing somethingIwant to do. And what I want to do is suck your cock until you don’t know who the fuck you are.”