Page 35 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

JACK

T he hot water cascaded over my shoulders, but it did nothing to wash away thoughts of Mia Harris.

I’d spent all morning trying to distract myself.

I’d started with a stack of paperwork I’d been avoiding all week, followed by a brutal ten mile run with Pickles that left us both exhausted.

Nothing worked. She consumed every corner of my mind like a fever I couldn’t shake.

It had been exactly seven days since the elevator.

Seven days since I’d pressed her against that wall, buried my fingers inside her, and watched her come apart with my name on her lips.

The memory still burned through me, a constant simmer under my skin that threatened to boil over every time I saw her.

There was so much I desperately wanted to give her. If it weren’t for my carefully laid plans, I’d be in my car right now, driving to her house, taking her against every available surface until she knew she was mine.

Waiting would make it sweeter. Make it perfect. But that didn’t stop my thoughts from wandering.

Steam filled the shower stall as I tried to push the thoughts away, but my body had other ideas.

I was already hard, my cock throbbing as vivid memories played behind my closed eyelids.

Mia riding me in my office chair. Mia kissing me against my office door.

Mia in that fucking elevator, her head thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure.

Mia. Mia. Mia. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I braced one hand against the shower wall as my other hand wrapped around my cock. One slow stroke, then another, imagining it was her hand instead of mine. In my mind, she was here with me, water streaming over her curves, gray eyes dark with desire as she sank to her knees.

“Fuck,” I groaned, increasing the pace. I pictured her mouth closing around me, those soft lips stretched wide to accommodate me.

The mental image was almost too sharp to bear.

Her tongue swirling around the head of my cock, taking me deeper while she looked up at me with a mix of innocence and sinful intent.

My hips bucked against my hand as I imagined her hands gripping my thighs, her muffled moans of pleasure as she took me deeper. I thought about threading my fingers through her dark hair, holding her exactly where I wanted her while she learned every inch of me.

The fantasy shifted. Now she was pressing me against the shower wall, taking control with a confidence I’d watched grow this past week. Her hand replacing her mouth, stroking me with purpose while her lips found my throat, my jaw, my mouth in desperate kisses.

The thought pushed me over the edge. My release hit hard and fast, a groan tearing from my throat as I spilled over my fist. Wave after wave crashed through me, Mia’s name falling from my lips like a prayer.

I slumped against the shower wall, chest heaving, as the water washed away the evidence. But the memory, the need, remained. Honestly, if I couldn’t pull this plan off the way I wanted, I wasn’t going to survive this sweet torture.

Turning the shower off, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. What I saw when I got out of the shower tested my resolve even further.

My phone had pinged with an incoming text, and my heart jumped. Mia. I dragged in a deep breath as I reached for my phone.

I did something impulsive today...

I smiled, typing quickly.

Should I be worried?

Depends on your definition of worried. I went shopping.

Now I’m definitely worried. What damage did you do?

Let’s just say Victoria now knows all my secrets.

My mouth went dry as the implication hit me. Lingerie. Mia had bought lingerie. Images flooded my mind. Lace against her pale skin, silk hugging her curves.

Show me.

I held my breath, watching as the typing dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again. She was hesitating, maybe second-guessing herself. The dots vanished again, and I cursed under my breath. I’d pushed too hard, too fast.

Please don’t torture me, Mia.

That did it. A photo appeared on my screen and I nearly dropped my phone.

Mia stared back at me, her expression a mix of nervousness and something darker, more provocative. The photo was cropped just below her chest, showing her wearing a deep burgundy lace bralette that left little to the imagination. The color was stunning against her fair skin.

“Fuck,” I whispered, feeling my body respond immediately to the image. She was gorgeous. Soft curves and creamy skin that I ached to touch, to taste.

I typed carefully, knowing my response mattered.

You are absolutely fucking breathtaking.

There’s more, but you’ll have to wait to see it in person.

My pulse kicked up another notch. I stared at the image, unable to tear my eyes away. After several moments of just looking at her, drinking her in, I managed to type a response.

The anticipation might end me.

The typing dots appeared immediately.

Your turn.

At first, I was confused. Then it clicked. She wanted me to reciprocate. To send her a photo of myself.

“Shit,” I muttered, running a hand through my still-damp hair. I’d never taken that kind of picture before. The whole concept seemed foreign, uncomfortable even. What was I supposed to do? Strike some pose? Flex like an idiot? The thought of staging a selfie made my skin crawl.

But Mia had stepped out of her comfort zone too, hadn’t she? She’d been brave enough to send me that image, fighting past her insecurities and self-doubt to share something vulnerable with me. I couldn’t leave her hanging.

I glanced around the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. I was still wrapped in the towel from the shower, water beading on my shoulders, hair pushed back from my face. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

My phone felt foreign in my hand as I raised it, angling to capture just my torso and part of my face. The flash lit up the steamy bathroom, and I quickly sent it before I could talk myself out of it.

Happy now?

The dots appeared instantly, disappeared, then reappeared.

VERY happy. You have no idea.

Something possessive and primal surged through me at her response. The knowledge that she wanted to see me, that my image affected her the way hers affected me.

Now who’s being a tease? You’re making it very difficult to focus on anything else today.

I smiled at that, a dangerous edge to my thoughts.

Good.

You’re evil. I wasn’t planning on spending my Saturday afternoon thinking about you.

That knowledge sent heat rushing through me. Mia, at home, unable to get me out of her head.

And now?

Now I might have to take a very cold shower.

My pulse jumped at the implication.

What are your plans for the rest of the day?

Trying not to drive to your house.

The three dots appeared instantly, then disappeared. When her response finally came through, it was just:

Oh.

That single word, loaded with meaning. I could picture her in her bedroom, staring at her phone, maybe biting that full lower lip of hers while she decided what to say next.

Enjoy your shower, Mia.

Her response made me laugh:

You’re impossible. See you Monday, Jack.

The screen went dark, leaving me alone with my thoughts and that picture of her in burgundy lace. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the weekend without laying eyes on her.

I set the phone down, my reflection mocking me in the mirror. When had I become this man? The one who counted down the hours until I could see a woman who had thoroughly unmade me?

I didn’t have an answer. I only knew that when it came to Mia Harris, I was completely and utterly lost.