Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
He would welcome it if I flipped him over and made out with him right now. I just know it. He wants it as badly as I do.
He has to be raging hard right now, his boner pressed to the mattress beneath him. I would satisfy him at the drop of a hat. I would take that cock of his into my hand, into my mouth, into my ass, whichever pleased him the most.
Then I blink and shake my head.
What the fuck has gotten into you, Adrian?
The last thing I want is to take advantage of a decent guy—a decent, sleepy, and intoxicated guy—who I’ve just welcomed into my apartment. That’s not me, and that’s not my style. What I’m doing right now is an innocent massage to ease the ache in his neck. I offered him my bed with sincerity, not with something devious in mind. I’m a good man. I’ve got a good heart.
And a very hard cock.
“Mmphphph … ughn … Adri—Adrian …”
Quintin’s words are so soft, they’re nearly not there. I lean forward a bit. “Hmm?”
“Adrian …”
I lean forward some more. “Yeah …?”
Then the sound of Quintin’s snoring hits my ears.
I stop massaging and frown. His deep breathing is now pronounced and steady, with each exhale escaping his cute parted lips like a soft hiss.
The guy is out.
Maybe he isn’t into it after all. I’m really not his type. I need to write a nerdy, award-winning poem about chemical formulas first or … whatever the hell it was he wants.
Or it could just be the alcohol. Dumb move, to pull out all of that wine on this lightweight.
As gently as I can manage, one leg at a time, I slowly remove myself from his back. Standing up next to the bed, I listen to him sleep for a moment, admiring how peaceful he looks.
Despite my throbbing, unhappy dick, something inside me swells with pride at the fact that we’re not having sex right now. Is that a weird reaction to have? I can’t even remember the last time I brought someone here who I didn’t have sex with.
Then that realization strikes me like a cold knife.
Is Kent right about me? Am I just some toy everyone uses for sex? Do I really not deserve my tips at Thalassa?
Of course not. Quintin had no intentions with me. He’s only here because I invited him. He was even ready to go back to his friend’s house until I talked him into staying.
I’m not just a toy. Kent’s got me wrong. This whole island has me wrong. I don’t care what they call me behind my back. They don’t define who I am or what I’m like.
“Mmm, you stopped …?”
Oh, he’s not asleep. “I thought you’d drifted off.”
He barely turns, tries to smile through his sleepiness, then drops his head back onto the pillow. “I’m feeling really good right now. Reallyreallyreallygoodmmm …”
I come around to the other side of the bed, sit on it next to him (without the sexually frustrating and dangerous act of straddling his booty this time), and resume massaging his neck with one hand. “I’ve got you.”
“Mmmgood …” He shuts his eyes.
I smile, watching him. After a moment, he’s fallen back to sleep. I lay down next to him with my hand still working his neck, though my efforts are starting to fade. I shut my eyes with my fingers still gently kneading him.
At some point, my hand stops, and we’re just lying side-by-side on the bed, eyes closed, my arm over his back, a soft wind whistling in through the balcony door in the other room which never closes as tightly as it should. In the peace of my bedroom, our breaths become ocean waves gently rushing forward and pulling back.
Rushing forward.
Pulling back.
Rushing …
Chapter 9 - Quintin
I open my eyes to sunlight.
A beautiful face rests on the pillow inches from mine.
Adrian’s.
His eyes open a moment after mine do, sparkling in the sunlight. He seems confused for a moment.
Then it hits me. “Oh my god. Did we—?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Hmm? Oh.” He lifts his head up and wipes the sleep out of his eyes. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep here. Was gonna go sleep on the couch, but you kept whining whenever I stopped rubbing your neck, and I—”
I sit up at once. “Did we have sex?”
He squints at me. “Huh? No.”
“No? Are you sure?”
Adrian props himself up by an elbow and gestures at his body. “Notice I’m still in my clothes? And you as well. I think I’d know if we had sex or not. You were out like a light after I gave you that neck massage.”
I blink.
Oh, right. The massage. That’s what happened.
He chuckles. “No need to panic, Quin. We didn’t sleep together.” He reconsiders. “Well … we did sleep together. Literally. But we didn’t have sex.”