Page 80 of Right Man, Right Time
I glance at her, and her eyes widen. She sits a little taller, almost to the point that I can see her nipples. “Silas . . . did Sarah cheat on you?”
I glance away and rub my hand down my face. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
“Okay,” she says quietly. And I know she wants to ask a million questions. I can feel them orbiting her, needing to get them out. And then she says, “For what it’s worth, she’s an absolute fool.”
My eyes land on her again, and she lifts up an inch, but it’s just enough for her breasts to almost be exposed. Her teeth roll over her bottom lip as her hand travels down her neck, like a bead of sweat rolling over her skin.
“You’re sexy, Silas.” Hand clutching her towel, she lifts up to sit on the bench. The towel twists but covers her in all the right places. “You have the kind of body I could worship.” She wets her lips as she stands now, the towel a mere loin cloth for her breasts and pussy. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of the bedroom.” She comes closer. “I’d make it my mission to have my mouth on every last inch of your skin.”
I don’t know what she’s doing or her end goal, but it’s turning me on to the point that I rest my hands on my lap to hide my excitement.
I want to be touched like that.
I want to be worshipped.
I want to feel fucking wanted.
“You’re easily the most attractive, nicest man I’ve ever met, despite your penchant to be grouchy a lot of the time.” She stands in front of me and hinges at the hip so we’re eye to eye. She lifts her hand to my cheek and slowly brings her thumb over my lips, dragging it down. I consider sucking her finger into my mouth or pulling her onto my lap . . . possibly laying her across me so I can spank her ass, just like I wanted to when she was working out. “You deserve better,” she whispers. “You deserve a woman who not only wants your cock . . . but craves it.” And with that, she lifts and turns so all I see is her perfect backside walking away. She glances over her shoulder where she catches my wandering eyes, fixated on exactly what she wants me to fixate on. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be in your living room, waiting whenever you want to take me home.”
How about never?
How about you come sit on my goddamn lap right now?
How about you let me fuck you so I can get this burning feeling out of my system that seems to develop whenever you’re around?
“Okay,” I answer in a strangled voice, my cock begging for her touch. “Shower for me, too.”
She winks. “Don’t think about me while you’re in there.” And then she retreats to the guest shower.
Don’t fucking think of her?
Next to impossible.
I make a beeline for my bedroom, and once I’m inside, I rip my towel off, go straight to the shower, and flip on the water. I step in, gather some soap in my hand, and then perch my arm against the tile as I grip my hard dick and stroke.
“Fuck,” I moan quietly.
Don’t think about me?
How could I fucking not?
For the past hour and a half, I’ve been suffering through blue balls as I watched her squat, experienced her stretched out in my sauna, beads of sweat dripping down her soft skin, then getting a show of her ass as she walked away, all tight and high, begging for my hands . . . for my cock.
“Fuck me,” I mutter and pump harder.
Ollie in her crop tops, no bra . . . nipples hard.
Ollie in that dress from her fundraiser and her phenomenal tits.
Ollie in her workout outfit . . .
I pump harder, my balls already beginning to tighten.
I bite down on my lip, my impending orgasm seconds away.
Don’t be fucking loud.
Don’t be . . .
