Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“What are you waiting for?”
Suddenly, I stand up. Wet release infuses every inch of my dick. I’m so close to exploding.
If I cross this line, I’m damned. I’ve fucked my relationship with Dan and any chance I had at ignoring this feeling.
So far, I have done nothing. I can lie to myself and pretend I’m innocent.
I rush down the hallway into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I stare at my reflection: at the gray in my hair, into the same blue eyes that strip the years away, taking me back to the early days when it was Dan and me against the world. Holly was a background figure flitting about with her camera.
“Get it together, man,” I growl.
CHAPTER 5
HOLLY
Oh, heck …
This is so wrong. He’s my brother’s best friend.
This will get me on the naughty list, one thousand percent.
I’ve gone too far now. I’m rubbing my hand quickly up and down my core, stroking my wetness over my sex. My nub is aching like it’s his hand touching me. I remember the gym, how he towered over me, staring with those captivating eyes, almost like he was going to lean down and kiss me.
I have very little experience, but my imagination doesn’t need it. My sex is so hot. In my mind, he’s in his towel, steam rising from him, the same steam moving through me. I bite down as the orgasm hits me.
I imagine squeezing my hands on his chest, my fingernails bending against his firmness, his powerful muscles swelling. This make-believe version of Asher groans and whispers in my ear, “You’re perfect …”
Sitting up, I quickly rush into my en suite, strip naked, and jump into the shower. I turn the temperature up so hot. It’s boiling. Maybe I can wash away what I just did.
That was all kinds of wrong. I can’t ever let something like that happen again. I need to have more discipline. When I got into bed, I couldn’t help myself. It was the way he was looking at me in the gym.
I leave for work early the next day. I don’t want to ride with Dan and Asher. It’d be too awkward. It’s not like they’ll know what I did, but I feel like it’s written on my forehead, and one look at me will give the game away.
In the office, I hunker down for some editing work.
When the Secret Santa phone vibrates, I debate not checking it. I enjoy texting this stranger. It’s easy and uncomplicated—all the things that Asher is not. Well, he’s not Asher. That shouldn’t make any difference. It should make it easier to text him, but it doesn’t.
Who can ignore a text, though? I haven’t got superhuman willpower.
My Secret Santa: Why are you so enthusiastic about Christmas, Miss Goody Two-shoes?
Me: Why do you hate it so much, Grinch?
My Secret Santa: That would involve getting into some depressing territory, he replies. You’re happy, positive, and excited. That seems like it might be more uplifting than my tale. The last thing I’d ever do around this time of year is bring you down.
Me: That intrigues me even more, you know. Are you really interested?
My Secret Santa: I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.
I tap my finger against my chin. It’s nice that he’s taking an interest. Maybe, once this is over, we could be friends. Or perhaps I could forget about this whole Asher thing and actually date somebody appropriate? What a world that would be.
Me: My dad used to work away a lot. He was a traveling salesman. The last of a dying breed, he called himself. He always made sure he was back for the holidays, even if only for a few days. So, my mom, brother, and I would ensure it was as special as possible. We knew how important it was to him to come home to a happy family. Even if we’d been arguing, we’d put that behind us. We’d let the Christmas cheer take over. I never forgot the magic of that feeling. I will never forget how transformative it could be. One second, we’re struggling to get into the spirit. The next, the spirit is taking us over. Is that cheesy enough for you, Grinch?
I click send, hoping I haven’t gone too far, but he asked. You can expect an essay if you get me talking about the holidays. It’s in my blood.
Minutes pass, then an hour. No reply. Nada. I focus on my work until the end of the day. Then I check it.
There’s still no reply. I don’t get it. The conversation was going well, and he suddenly decided not to text back. It leaves me feeling overexposed. I’ve shared too much, made an ass out of myself.
That evening, when I return home, I must have a sour look on my face. Dan looks up from his open laptop in his usual spot at the kitchen island. “You good?”