The ceiling fan whirs above me, doing nothing to cool the heat that's pooling low in my belly. I'm slick with sweat and lube, my hand moving in a steady rhythm that's got me teetering on the edge of oblivion. My other arm is thrown over my head, fingers gripping the edge of the pillow while my hazel eyes are screwed shut, images of scantily clad women from last night's party at The Sand Dunes Bar & Grill flickering behind my eyelids.
"Come on, Lucky," I mutter to myself, a nickname that's more about scoring on the ice than in the sheets—though it applies to both, if I'm honest.
My phone is somewhere on the floor, discarded along with the rest of my clothes. I don't need porn when my own fantasies are vivid enough, replaying every flirtatious smile, every accidental brush of skin against skin. But as I'm about to cross the finish line, as the tension coils tighter and I'm ready to let go, there's this godforsaken racket coming from next door.
"Son of a..." The words die on my lips as I force my eyes open, the orgasm that was just within reach slipping away. Hell, I grip myself harder, trying to stay in the zone, but the commotion isn't letting up. It sounds like someone's trashing their place or... something worse?
"Fucking hell." I release my cock. Can't even get five minutes of peace in my own home. My pulse is still racing, but now it's laced with irritation instead of impending pleasure. I push off the bed, already knowing that I’m going to be left with an ache only a guy can understand.
I wipe myself off on the towel I brought earlier to the edge of my bed and make my way to the window.
Peering out, the cool night air is a slap to my overheated skin, but it's nothing compared to the jolt in my gut when I spot them—two women looking frantic. One's got fiery curls escaping her ponytail like she's been through a storm, which, judging by her agitated gestures, she probably has. Next to her, the other lady bounces on the balls of her feet with all kinds of wild hand gestures.
"Great," I mutter, feeling the telltale twinge that confirms my night's taken a turn to frustration. Blue balls are a guarantee now, a punishment for being neighborly. With a resigned sigh, I grab a pair of jeans from the floor—because decency dictates I can't show up pantsless, even if my upper half is still showing off last summer's tan lines and this season's gym gains. Time to play good Samaritan... or at least find out why my almost-orgasm got interrupted.
"Damn," I curse under my breath, feeling the cool air hit my chest—goosebumps traveling across my skin. I should probably grab a shirt, but the urgency in the ladies’ voices through the windowpane has me bolting for the door instead.
I fumble with the lock, and then I'm out the door as the porch light flicks on automatically.
"Control yourself, Dakota," I whisper-chide myself. "Can't have you looking like some Pavlovian mutt at the sight of damsels in distress."
I jog down the driveway. The sound of running water and muffled curses grows louder as I approach the neighboring house, where two women stand on the porch, flustered and phone-lit.
"Hey," I call out, managing to inject a hint of calm into my voice despite the tension knotting in my lower belly. "Need a hand?"
The one with auburn curls pinned back eyes me like she's sizing me up. Her silk green tank top pajama set clinks to her wet body as the cool breeze makes her nipples hard. That green color matches her gorgeous eyes.
She clears her throat and crosses her arms over her chest to break my lust filled daze. So what that she caught me. It’s nothing out of the norm for me. Afterall, my boldness is half the reason I have to call my friends at least once a weekend to come pick me up and get me out of my late-night escapes from women’s beds. Once those women have been satisfied and my release has been completed, it’s time to get the hell out of there. I’m not even in their beds long enough for the relationship word to even be mentioned.
The other lady standing with Miss Green Eyes is petite with a playful glint despite the crisis. She gives me a quick, assessing glance. Her eyes linger just long enough on my abs that I feel a mix of pride and a pang of lost opportunity.
"Uh, yeah," Miss Green Eyes says. "It's raining indoors, if you can believe it."
"Lead the way," I reply with a grin.
We troop inside, but even before we hit the stairs, I hear the water downpouring that’s probably coming from the attic. We make our way up there, and yep—a hot water heater spewing uncontrollably.
"Looks like your heater's had a major blowout. Since this house is similar to mine, I think I know where the main shut off valve is. I’ll run down to turn off the water, but you ladies grab what you can salvage of your things and meet me outside.