Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Coming without touching himself became a very distinct possibility in that moment.
“Christ,” he said hoarsely, fisting his cock before he could humiliate himself. One slide of his clenched fingers was like throwing a match into a puddle of kerosene, though, and he just went for broke, groaning behind his gritted teeth, watching her face while he masturbated. “You like having your spit on my dick, baby?”
Son of a bitch, she was mesmerized. “Yes.”
“Ohhh. Fuck.” He pumped his fist faster. “No one’s ever watched me do this before.”
“Really?” Her smile was drowsy, horny. “I’m the first?”
First girl he could fall in love with, too.
Don’t say that out loud.
Don’t even think it. So dangerous.
“What are you fantasizing about?” she asked. Closer than before? Was that her breath on his shoulder? Lord. “While you do it.”
“I don’t have to fantasize about anything,” he said in stops and starts, the pleasure beginning to hit an overwhelming high. “Not when you’re lying there with no bra. Your fucking thighs . . .”
She shifted the legs in question, rasping them on the sheets. “My thighs?”
Too close now. Filter gone. “I’m thinking of my spit all over them. How I’ll lick it on there to help my hips slide when I’m riding you into the goddamn ground.”
A hitched moan from Skylar was the absolute end of him. His balls tightened, wrenching a groan from the pit of his stomach, and he got off in his frenzied hand, his thighs jerking against the edge of the mattress, his head tipped back, mouth wide, while he captured as much moisture as possible in his moving fist, the rest of it seeping out around his knuckles. During what he thought was that final wave of pleasure, he looked over at Skylar’s perked-up nipples and blew another hard rope, then another, his whole body collapsing back onto the bed, gasping for fucking air.
Whoa.
Whoa, what the hell?
Sex had never been so . . . satisfying. And she hadn’t even touched him.
Okay. Yeah. I’m in deep-ass trouble here.
Robbie shook himself free of the lingering bliss of relief and studied Skylar, trying to figure out where she was landing on all this. Was she regretting the intimacy? Was she still processing what happened? What? Her eyes were glazed and glued to a spot in the near distance, those sexy nipples still in perfect peaks. Thus, his brain said horny.
Deciding to trust that assessment, Robbie leaned over and brushed their lips together, that zing of connection winging around his chest like a majestic bald eagle only driving home the fact that, yeah, he was screwed. “Do you want me to take care of you?” Entranced by those chips of gold in her eyes, he cupped the side of her face with his clean hand, keeping their lips close. So close. “No fake moans with me. With us.”
Us.
That word visibly grabbed her attention. In a good or bad way, he couldn’t tell.
Not right away.
But when she bounded off the bed and crouched down in front of her suitcase, pulling out clothes and backing toward the door? He concluded . . . bad.
She didn’t want an us.
She wanted Skylar and Madden.
Not Skylar and Robbie.
“Hey, listen,” he said, voice gravelly as he yanked his sweatpants up to cover himself. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. I just need to pitch. I’m late to pitch.”
He swallowed a handful of tacks. “Okay. I’ll see you after.”
And then she was gone, leaving Robbie to stare at the closed door.
Chapter Sixteen
Skylar stared at her parents as they gave instructions for the rock climbing challenge. Doug’s mouth was moving, expounding on his journey to becoming a certified climber while everyone else baked bread during Covid, but Skylar was only catching every seventh or eighth word. Ever since Robbie . . . did that. On her bed. Just did it right there. A low, horny hum had been taking up most of her ear function.
She’d gone through the motions while harnessing up and preparing for the climb, her brain moving at half the usual speed. Slogging. Making robot beeps. Could anyone blame her? How was she supposed to live with that mental imagery?
Look. She’d shared a bathroom with her brother starting at age twelve. As she’d reached later teenhood, that period of time in their respective youths when he’d taken forty-five-minute showers had made a lot more sense.
Unfortunately, by then, it had been too late to start hiding her loofa, but she digressed. Male masturbation wasn’t some exotic idea. She knew it occurred with great frequency. Had even overheard her brother’s friends talking about it from time to time. She’d just never expected to see someone doing it two feet away.
And enjoying it so much.
Talking to her—about her—while he enjoyed it so much.
Time to face facts. Robbie’s hotness was beginning to be a problem. Madden was standing ten yards to her left, reconnoitering with Elton about strategy for the challenge, and Skylar could focus on nothing but the memory of Robbie’s corded forearm shifting and flexing while he stroked himself. The way his neck strained. The glazed quality of his eyes.