Page 7 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Across the table, Elliott looked like Christmas had come early. “God,” he chuckled, practically glowing with joy, “I love experiencing this in real time.”

I tore my glare from Evan and shot Elliott a murderous glare. “You are the worst.”

Elliott took another swig of his drink, the absolute bastard, completely unfazed. “No, Evan’s the worst,” he corrected, entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m just an observer of the train wreck that is your love life.”

Evan placed a hand over his chest, mock wounded. “Excuse you,” he said, voice dripping with exaggerated offense. “I am a delight.”

Evan winked.

And the worst part? My first instinct was to laugh, and I did.

Later that night, I sat in my apartment, the soft glow of my laptop screen casting faint shadows across the room. The cursor blinked, a silent, taunting metronome counting every second I wasn’t working.

I should’ve been focused. This deadline wasn’t going to move just because I was distracted.

As I stared at the screen, my mind began to wander, and I found myself thinking about Evan.

More specifically, Evan’s ass, and how good it looked in those tight black pants he wore.

I imagined what his chest would look like underneath his shirt, and how his muscular arms would feel locked around me.

I leaned back on the couch, rubbing my temples hoping that could help push him out of my head. But Evan wasn’t the kind of thought you could just will away. He lingered, like the faint mix of citrus and bourbon that clung to my jacket, or the ghost of a smirk I’d never admit I liked.

And just like that, I realized I had a hard-on thinking about him. From a smirk. A laugh. A stupid wink. About how much I wanted him and how much I wanted him to pin me there, pressing against me, lips at my ear and neck .

I closed my eyes, but that only made it worse. Now I was imagining the way he’d look above me, what his firm ass would feel like if I were grinding against it, running my hands through his hair while our lips were locked in a deep and passionate kiss.

I groaned, jaw clenched, chest tight. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake it off. But the fantasy kept coming, clearer now: his body against mine, our lips locked, hips grinding. Too vivid. Too good.

“This is nothing,” I said aloud into the empty room. “Just… friendly banter. Nothing more.”

Right?

Then why the hell was I smiling?

Realization hit hard, knocking the air from my lungs.

I sat up, forced my face into something neutral, like the universe could unsee what it already knew.

Nope. Not happening.

I snapped my laptop shut, shoved it onto the coffee table, and pushed myself off the couch with more force than necessary. Maybe I just needed sleep. Yes, sleep is good. Sleep will fix this.

Except as I climbed into bed and turned the lamp off, my thoughts didn’t quiet down.

Instead of focusing on debugging code, my brain kept glitching, looping between lines of logic and syntax errors and kissing him against a server rack. It was like trying to run clean code on a system overloaded with attraction, impossible to focus, impossible to ignore.

My cock grew harder at these thoughts.

I groaned, rolling onto my side and dragging the blanket over my head in a futile attempt to block out the problem.

As I lay there, I couldn’t shake the image of Evan’s firm body pressed against mine.

My heart pounded with anticipation, and I felt a surge of desire course through my veins.

Under the covers, in the darkness, I started to touch myself, softly moaning as the rush built inside me.

My cock responded with precum leaking. I tasted it.

Sweet and slightly salty. I imagined what Evans might taste like. Does he even precum?

My hand moved slowly at first, stroking gently and teasing, but as the excitement grew, my hand sped up in matching intensity.

My other hand focused on my sensitive parts, pulling on my balls, fingering my ass, pinching a nipple, while stroking faster and harder with each passing moment.

The sensations were almost unbearable, and I felt myself losing control .

Not letting go of my cock, my wandering hand reached over to my nightstand and grabbed my phone, searching for some porn to fuel my desire.

As I scrolled through my feed, the first thing that popped up was a video of a dark-haired waiter getting fucked on a table in a restaurant.

I went with it, letting the intense scene unfold before my eyes.

The video was explicit and raw, and it only added to my arousal. I watched as the waiter’s body arched, his eyes closed in ecstasy. My own body responded in kind, my strokes becoming faster and more frantic.

My moans grew louder, echoing off the walls as I hoped that my neighbors weren’t listening. But I couldn’t help it, the sound of my own surrender was music to my ears. It was as if I had lost all control, letting go and allowing the euphoria to wash over me like a wave.

As I crashed over the edge, the orgasm was intense, a wave of white heat that left me breathless and shaking. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before, a release of pent-up tension that seemed to rip through every fiber of my being.

For a moment, everything else faded away, only the tremors coursing through my body mattered. And when they passed, leaving me sweaty, spent, and irritated with myself, I got up, cleaned myself off, and tried not to look at my reflection like I’d just lost a battle I didn’t mean to fight.

What is it about this man?

Why does he get under my skin like this?

What is it that makes me come undone at just the thought of him?

The way he smiles, the way he looks at me like I’m not invisible.

It’s not like I don’t know better. It’s not like I haven’t handled this kind of thing before. So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

I crawled back into bed, yanked the blanket over my head like that might shut my brain up for once. But the questions wouldn’t let go. And somehow, even with my head spinning, the questions chased me all the way to sleep.