Page 13

It’s clearly been way too long since I’ve seen a guy shirtless because my lady bits are tingling like they’ve never tingled before. Fuck, even my nipples are hard, for crying out loud!

“I’m sorry, were you saying something, River?”

Like they’re hooked up to his voice, they tighten even more, and I clutch my notebook like it’s my lifeline, covering the evidence. Big mistake because the friction is apparently just what I need, and I nearly let out a moan.

Holy hell am I sex-deprived, getting turned on by a fucking notebook. Has nothing to do with a shirtless Dean, of course.

He steps closer, and I don’t back up, holding my ground.

I shove my shoulders back. “Just that I hate you.”

“Really?” He takes another step. And another. He’s so close I can smell the cinnamon from his gum.

Every inch of my body is on edge because all I can think about is how he’s too close but too far away at the same time.

He takes one last step, then dips his head toward mine. He’s not touching me, but if I weren’t holding my breath, my notebook would be bumping against his chest.

“Hate me so much you’re hiding your hardened nipples behind a notebook?”

The whoosh of breath leaves me in a loud groan, and I flee from the room, careful not to brush up against him.

“Something wrong, roomie?” he calls out, amusement clear in his voice. “Did something pop up that you want to talk about?”

“You leave my nipples out of this!”

His laughter echoes through the apartment as I slam my bedroom door closed.

Asshole.

I can’t sleep.

I’ve spent the past hour tossing and turning, and it’s entirely Dean’s fault.

It didn’t take long for him to hit the shower after I scurried off to my room. The entire time he was in there, all I could think about was how he was stark naked with nothing but a few feet of drywall between us.

How good the water must look running over his back…his abs.

His cock.

I should have been more embarrassed than I was when he caught me staring at his dick. Should have turned beet red.

But his eyes…

For a quick moment, like the tiniest fraction of a second, I considered closing the distance like his eyes were begging me to do.

But I didn’t.

Now I’m tucked safely away in my room where I won’t be tempted to do something foolish like kiss Dean Evans.

And he’s in his room, where I’m sure he’s just so damn pleased with himself for getting me all worked up and making my nipples hard.

They still are.

Hell, my entire body is awake because every time I close my eyes, I see Dean without a shirt. Or the outline of his dick.

Ugh. I seriously need to get laid. This is getting ridiculous if I’m actually lying here thinking about Dean of all people.

Maybe a quick rendezvous with my favorite toy will help take the edge off…

I reach into my nightstand and grab my clit vibrator. Switch it on. Set it to the lowest (and quietest) setting, slide my panties to the side.

I am that needy. So keyed up I nearly burst before it even makes contact with my center.

I spread my legs and tilt my hips up, guiding the toy over my bud, which is pulsing with need.

My eyes fall closed and all I see is a familiar pair of green eyes.

I pop my eyes back open, pulling the toy from my body, because What the hell ?

It’s one thing to masturbate, but it’s another to think of Dean while I do it.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt…

I close my eyes, bring my toy back to my clit…and god help me, I think of Dean.

His green eyes. That perfect smirk. His midnight black hair, his incessant five o’clock shadow, the slight dimple in his chin.

I conjure the image of him from only an hour ago, standing shirtless in front of me. I picture him stalking toward me, his hard, taut body pressing against mine as he cups my face. His thumb strokes gently over my cheek as he leans down to kiss me and…

I come.

Hard.

I gasp for air, coming down from the high, my heart racing dangerously fast.

“Take that, Dean.” I slide the toy out from under the blankets. “I don’t need the real you.”

“You say something?”

“FUCK!” I yelp.

And my vibrator goes flying across the room as my arms flail.

Thump.

It smacks loudly against the wall…and leaves a nice I was just caught masturbating and I panicked and flung my vibrator across the room– sized hole in the wall.

“Mother…”

“Uh, everything okay in there?” Dean calls through the door.

“OH MY GOSH! GO AWAY!”

“Geez, okay,” he says. “I heard talking and thought you said my name. Sorry.”

His footsteps echo down the hall as I lie there, holding my breath, completely mortified. I place my hand over my chest, trying to calm my breathing. If I thought my heart rate was up during my orgasm…

What in the hell just happened?

After a few minutes of trying to relax, I push myself up to a sitting position, combing back my hair. I smack my lips together, my mouth dry.

I drag myself out of bed and pick up my poor vibrator.

“Sorry about that, buddy,” I whisper, tucking it back into my bedside table.

I quietly pull my bedroom door open. Before I step into the hallway, I peek around the doorframe and to my left.

Dean’s door is closed, and his light is off.

Good.

I sneak down the hall and into the kitchen. As quietly as I can, I get myself a glass of water and chug it. I fill another and settle my back against the counter, trying to get myself to relax.

I’m even more keyed up now than I was before my stellar orgasm.

Of course Dean would ruin my afterglow. That’s just his style, just the thing he’d manage to pull off, the ass.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my yoga mat rolled up and resting against the couch.

Yes! That’s exactly what I need. Yoga always helps me cool off.

I tiptoe back to my room, grab my phone and earbuds, and then pad back out to the living room.

I unroll my mat and get everything situated before firing up my favorite yogi app.

Before I hit play, I sit still, listening closely to see if I woke Dean up with all my moving about.

Nothing.

He must be asleep.

I take a few gentle breaths and hit play on my go-to routine.

It doesn’t take long until I’m lost in the moves, completely zeroed in on my favorite instructor’s soothing tone.

When the video ends, I continue through my cooldown poses, determined to get out the last of the jitters I feel.

A tickle in my spine draws me out of my trance.

I’m not alone.

Dean’s watching me.

His smoldering stare is boring into me. I don’t have to be looking at him to know that the look in his eyes is the same one I saw earlier in his bedroom.

He’s enjoying the view.

And I’m enjoying the way his eyes are caressing me, following every move I make as I bend, placing my palms flat against the floor.

Even with my headphones in, I can hear Dean’s sharp intake, my ass fully on display.

I’m wearing nothing but a pair of black boyshorts and a pale pink camisole, my standard bedtime attire.

I push to my full height, then bend again, this time walking my hands out and shoving my butt out even more.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the desire in his voice thick.

I can’t even laugh.

I feel it too, the untapped tension in the room.

I’m starting to sweat, and not from my exercise.

The flames of his stare lick against my skin, and I realize now that screwing with him was a mistake.

I don’t feel relaxed. I am anything but relaxed.

Inhale, exhale.

I draw in three deep breaths, stretch out again without the intention of making Dean crazy, and then push to my full height.

I don’t acknowledge him as I roll my yoga mat back up and tuck it away.

Pulling one earbud from my ear, I turn toward my audience.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t shrink under my attention.

He’s staring at me unabashedly, a glass of water in his hands, the moonlight from the open window and the terrarium casting just enough light for me to see him sitting at the island in the dark kitchen.

I can’t see his eyes, but I can still feel them.

Feeling brave, I stalk toward him, not stopping until I’m nearly between his spread legs.

I slip the glass from his hands and take a long, hard pull from it, emptying it before setting it down on the counter.

He just watches, not saying a word as I stand there.

All that can be heard is our uneven breathing.

I don’t know how many minutes go by, but my nipples are back to standing at attention and my pussy is back to feeling like I haven’t given it attention in days.

I’m beginning to grow uncomfortable under his deep stare, and not in a creeper vibe sort of way. More of an I’m about to do something I regret kind of way.

“Like what you see?” I smart off, needing to regain some semblance of balance because what in the hell are we doing?

We can’t be playing games like this.

I can’t be masturbating because Dean got me all hot and bothered.

He can’t be staring at me like he wants to strip me bare.

“Yes,” he answers.

Without a care in the world, he adjusts his obviously hard cock inside those gray sweats I’m starting to hate.

“Yeah?”

A challenging brow goes up.

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Though I want to run, I turn away from him slowly, sauntering down the hall as nonchalantly as I can.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles as I close my door.

Fucking hell is right.