Page 20 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” I say, and with that they both leave, nearly knocking one another over as they exit the bathroom and shut the door.

With them gone, I breathe out a sigh of relief and nearly collapse on the floor. I fall against the counter, my hand landing right on top of the borrowed clothes Rush gave me. I pick up the underwear—they’re smooth, almost silky-feeling and look tight.

Like the underwear Brett used to wear, the kind that’s so skintight it draws attention toeverycurve. The little pocket calls my attention, and heat floods my core as my intrusive thoughts procure an image of Rush wearing this.

He’s not as thick as Brett or Freddie, but he’s not without his definition, and I know that only because Rush isn’t shy about his body one bit. He’s been in several hockey calendars, and every time his photo is one of him with his damn shirt off or with his underwear hanging out of his jeans.

I shouldn’t think about my ex’s brother in his underwear. Or how his ass would look in said underwear. And I certainly shouldn’t think about how hiscockwould look in this, given the little separator.

I know just how these things make a man’s cock look. Bigger, thicker. Brett wasn’t exactlyhuge, but even so, this type of underwear always made him look huge, which is why I think he wore them.

I can’t say I didn’t like seeing him walking around our house—his house—in nothing but them. And nine times out of ten, anytime I saw him in them…

Let’s just say Brett ended up with his underwear around his ankles enough times I think he wore them on purpose.

The thought is sobering.

I push the clothes and all thoughts of Brett and his cock out of my mind and instead focus on brushing my teeth, because I need to get the vile taste of vomit out of my mouth.

I open the cabinet and notice everything Freddie mentioned. The cabinet is filled with washcloths, towels, spare toothbrushes, makeup wipes, wet wipes, tampons, body wash, lotion and…

I grab a spare toothbrush package and some toothpaste from one of the bins and set to opening it and brushing my teeth. I can see my reflection in the mirror and note I really do look a little worse for wear. My hair is a knotted, tangled mess, my skin is pale—paler than usual—and my dress looks a little off-center.

I look like I feel, that’s for sure.

I spit out the toothpaste and rinse one last time before grabbing a towel and washcloth—and sue me, I grab one of the unopened shower gel bottles in the cabinet—cucumber melon—and head over to the large shower. The tub sits next to it, and I debate actually taking Freddie up on his offer, but I know what I really need is sleep. I can feel a migraine coming on, and I know I’m going to be hungover as shit tomorrow.

So I start the shower, letting the water run to heat up a moment as I undress myself. I peel my dress off easily as well as my bra.

I nearly gasp when I slide my panties off, noticing howwetthey are.

Oh. My. God.

Even though no one can see me, my cheeks heat. I drop them, not wanting to acknowledgethat.

What the hell?

I get under the spray quickly, wanting nothing more than to wash away these weird, confusing feelings. I find some shampoo on one of the inlet shelves and grab it, taking a whiff first. It smells masculine—like cedar and citrus mixed with cinnamon. It smells likeRush.

The thought makes my insides twist, and a soft moan escapes my throat. I squirt some into my hand and run it through my hair, closing my eyes. The scent fills my lungs, heightened by the steam.

The water feels too good on my body. Hot, soothing.

I close my eyes as I massage my scalp, breathing in the smell of Rush and remembering how that same smell invaded my lungs on the dance floor.

We danced together, and it was…

Fun.

For a little bit, anyway, and then…Rush held me in the car. Pulled my hair back for me so I could upend the contents from my night of drinking. And then he held me the whole way home.

I think back to moments ago when he gave me his spare clothes. Hiscleanunderwear. My mind wanders to thoughts of just what he’d look like in them, even though I told myself I wouldn’t think of that.

But I can’t seem to help myself. My pussy aches, and even underneath this spray I can feel the desire, the arousal culminating there.

I’m not sure what’s getting me all worked up, because it certainly isn’t my ex’s brothers, no.

It’snotRush, and his sweet scent or his warm touch.