Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Already?” he asks.
“No time like the present.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to argue with me, but he doesn’t. We eat and then head to his condo for him to change. It’s the perfect opportunity to make a show, so I keep my arm possessively around him like I couldn’t keep my hands off him if I wanted to.
When we get to his door, he says, “Oh, fuck. What about Jacob?”
“Are you worried he’ll tell people we aren’t dating? He won’t say anything.” I make a mental note to talk with Jacob about Gary and me. He’s a cool guy. I know we don’t have to worry about him spilling the truth.
“You know that, why? Because you fucked him?” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“Yes, actually. My cock has the ability to control even the strongest of men. Once you’ve had it, you’ll listen to me a whole lot easier than you do now, too,” I tease and again, watch his eyes go wide.
“How did I get myself into this mess?” he asks and opens the door. Jacob doesn’t seem to be here, which I think makes it a little easier on Gary. Gotta slowly work him into this stuff.
He heads for his bedroom, me right behind him. “What are you doing? I need to get changed.” He looks absolutely scandalized.
“I’m enjoying the view. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?” I say as I walk into his room, sit on the bed and wait for the show.
9
Gary
Here he is again. In my room. Looking hot as ever in a navy-blue tank with a pink stripe across the chest. He’s the kind of guy who could wear a fucking pink tutu and he’d still look like the most masculine guy in the world. I slide the door to my closet open. My Ikea shelves are packed—folded tees and polos at the top and shorts, jeans, and underwear at the bottom. Not enough space in my closet to change, so the only way I can get some privacy is to head into the adjoining bathroom. That’s what I should do—that’s what I would normally do—but I don’t want to leave.
I already know he likes what he sees. I keep acting like this is all one-sided, but he’s already made it clear that it’s not. I recall his little joke about how if I didn’t eat the salad, he’d get his feelings hurt.
His words were dripping with sarcasm, as if there was no way that could ever happen. I imagine he’s never had to live through the sort of grief I experienced with Peter. I envy him. I’ve always gotten attached. After I’d hook up with a guy, there was always the lingering question, “Should we see each other again?” It’s been about finding a relationship for me. Was the guy interested in more? Was I interested in more?
I’m not worried about that with Travis. I’ve seen him at Flirt and know how he is with guys. He’d fuck anyone with a pulse…and I’ve already seen that he wouldn’t be totally against fucking me.
I grab a pair of gym shorts and a tank top. I feel him watching me. He’s waiting for me to chicken out. Waiting for me to race out of the room because I’m too much of a coward to handle him seeing me naked.
But he’s already seen everything and by now, groped everything.
In the back of my mind, a part that’s always so loud seems faint as it cries out, Don’t do it!
I can’t deny what I’m feeling right now or that it only seems fair that if Peter’s moved on, I should be able to as well. And I know that’s partially what this is all about. Yeah, he’s hot as fuck, but knowing it would piss Peter off excites me. Just knowing this would irritate him. That it would make him feel even a fraction of what he made me feel when I found out about Evan.
I throw my tank and gym shorts onto the bed and strip down. Even knowing he’s seen it all before, I worry he might suddenly realize he’s been wrong about thinking I’m attractive. About calling me Hot Ass—a nickname that, even though I pretend not to like, excites me. A lot more than kiddo.
His gaze is right on me, and soon I’m in my boxer briefs.
Now that faint voice in the back of my head has gotten even quieter because I just had a wicked thought—one that will likely wind up embarrassing me. But what do I care if Travis thinks I’m being ridiculous? I hardly even know him.
I grab either side of my boxers and drop them to the floor.
“Oh, really?” he says. “I didn’t figure you’d need to change those.”
I smirk, feeling particularly clever. “It’s my good underwear.”
There’s that look in those hazel eyes. Pure, animalistic desire. When it comes to sex, he’s easy to read. I can’t imagine being as transparent as him, letting the world know how horny I am, letting everyone know just how much I want them.