Page 58 of Catcher's Lock

But no, there are his scuffed boots with the electrical tape onthe laces and his backpack on the chair, the zipper half open and the cuff of a faded pair of jeans spilling from the gap. And there’s a strip of light under the bathroom door and a low murmur—a sound—coming through the thin barrier. My half-hard morning wood twitches, and I give it a sleepy stroke.

As I claw my way back to consciousness, I realize he’s on the phone. My first fuzzy thought is that the twink from the club somehow got his number, even though my rational brain knows that’s stupid. Josha was withmethe whole time. He didn’t even look back as we left the club—he said “always”—and he was…softer, after. Still wary, sure, but the ever-present anger had subsided. Enough to kindle a spark of hope.

Because last night wasfucked. Last night was a special kind oftorture, and it’s a miracle I survived on only one lousy drink. But last night was also scorchingly, dizzyingly—

“I want to watch you choke on my cock”

—hot.

I have a new entry to add to my collection of Sexy As Fuck Sounds Josha Makes When He Comes, and I’m fucking ravenous for more. I want to hear him scream, his voice wrecked with pleasure. I want to hear him whimper when he can’t take anymore. I want to know what my name sounds like on his lips when he falls the fuck apart.

He has a whole symphony of orgasms locked inside him, and I want to learn to play every note.

Starting now.

This time, when he comes out of the bathroom in those slutty, too-thin sleep pants, he won’t crawl into his own bed. This time, he’ll come to mine, blushing and nervous, but with molten chocolate in his eyes. He’ll straddle my hips and press me into the mattress, and I’ll put my mouth on that hummingbird pulse athis throat and—

“…taking him hometoday.” The sharp tone snatches me from the fantasy, and my hand stills on my oblivious cock.

He’s talking to someone aboutme.

And then, with a flash of fresh horror:He’s talking tomy mom.

I bolt out of bed and wrench the bathroom door open. God only knows what my fucking plan is, but he’s lowering the phone, and there’s nothing but wide-eyed surprise on his face.

No guilt.

That’s my first thought. The second is that my fantasy, based on memories of a younger Josha, didnotdo justice to the pornographic vision before me. The pants are the same—and honestly, at this point, he has to know what he’s doing with those—but the rest? The light dusting of copper hair that trails from his chest down over his stomach, darkening to russet where it disappears into his waistband? Themusclesand thecollarbonesand thegoddamn groovesof his obliques?

It’s immoral. Unfair.

“Hi.” My voice is raspy with lust and edged with lingering panic.

“I didn’t know you were awake.” He swallows, and a flush crawls up his throat to flame the tips of his ears, andJesus fucking Christ, kill me now. “You can have the first shower.”

“Okay.” Brilliant conversationalist, me. This is what happens when I’m too fucking sober, my brain leaping from one runaway track to the next while my nervous system scrambles to keep up. After so many years of using—uppers for focus, weed and pills to blunt the manic edges, and always,alwaysbooze to beckon sweet oblivion—I’m out of practice at managing myself without a safety net.

He goes to push past me, turning carefully to avoid brushing against my bare chest, but I brace my hands on the top of the doorframe before he can escape. “Or we could shower together.”

“That’s not happening.Move.”

“That’s not happening.” I flash a grin and hold my ground. With a roll of his eyes, he backs off, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest. Now there arebicepsandforearmsin the mix. Fucking fantastic.

“Is this because of last night?” he asks. “You think that changed anything?”

“For me or for you?”

“Stop. I don’ttrustyou, Gem. Just because you…” He looks away, and now his whole body is blushing.

“Helped you get your cock sucked? Jizzed in my pants?”

“Jizzed? Jesus. You sound like a thirteen-year-old.”

“You loved me at thirteen.”

His eyes flash to mine, and I hold his gaze, willing him to relent. Toremember.

And yeah, I know I’m avoiding the wholetrustissue. But that’s a long game. Something to deal with when he’s lesscheck-out-my-entire-cock-outline-while-I-stand-here-all-bronzed-and-bulging.