Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Okay then. I tap my fingers on my thigh and examine myself in the mirror. Just go back out there and go to bed. That’s all you have to do. No big deal. He might even be asleep already. I blow out a breath at my reflection and then scoop the dress off the floor and exit the bathroom. I stop at the wardrobe to slip the dress onto a hanger, then close the doors and turn towards the room.
“Holy shit, are you naked?” I blurt out. Boyd’s sitting in the bed with the covers up to his waist, his back against the headboard reading something on his tablet. His chest is bare, his perfect, six-pack abs assaulting my eyes from less than ten feet away. This isn’t fair, I mean come on.
“No,” he says slowly. I think he’s confused by me, but I’m not sure because his eyes are on my bare legs and he’s not saying anything. I want to tug at the hem of these sleep shorts, but I resist and instead mentally chastise myself for not packing sweatpants. He flips the cover back and points at his legs—covered by pajama pants.
I’m an idiot. My cheeks flush as I get into the other side of the bed and lie down on my side, facing the wall.
“Just to clarify, you have seen a penis, right?” Boyd asks, the hint of laughter in his voice.
“Oh, my God. Shut up!” I slap a hand over my eyes like that might suddenly transport me out of this mess and back to my own apartment. It doesn’t. “I already told you that I have, but I haven’t seen yours, okay? I’m sure yours is super special.” I’m going to die of awkward. I cannot look at him, I cannot.
“Well, thank you, Chloe. I like to think that it is.” There’s no hint of laughter in his voice now. Because he’s flat-out laughing. “Good night, Chloe.”
“Good night, Boyd.”
Fourteen
Boyd
This was a bad idea. This trip. This hotel room. The one bed. Bad, all bad. Sometime during the night her back ended up cuddled to my front, her ass lined up with my cock. Spooning. We’re fucking spooning.
The texture of her shirt is pressed against my bare chest and I know logically that waffle-weave cotton is the least sexy thing on the planet, but my dick hasn’t gotten the message. I’ve somehow managed to sling an arm around her as she slept and her legs are pressed against mine. Knowing they’re bare just past her tiny excuse for shorts is killing me. Then she shifts and her toes nudge my shin—and my balls get bluer than they already are. I woke up a few minutes ago with a hard-on that got progressively worse as I remembered where I was and who I was pressed up against. Her hair still manages to smell faintly like vanilla and strawberry even with the remnants of hair spray from yesterday. And it’s soft. I know this because I’m playing with the strands flung across my pillow. Like a pervert. Or a besotted asshole.
I hope I’ve read her right. I hope this plan I’ve contrived to get what I want works. Or I’m fucked. I detach myself from her and roll out of bed. She murmurs and her eyelids flutter before she rolls to her back and stretches. I need a shower, right now.
I stand under the hot water for what feels like an hour, my hand wrapped around my cock providing about as much satisfaction as fake-dating Chloe does. Don’t get me wrong, I jerk off and I enjoy it. But masturbation never compares with the real thing. Ever. It’s like the difference between watching the NFL on TV and being on the field. And my dick is more than ready to suit up and get in the game with Chloe.
I step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I didn’t think about clothing on my way in, too preoccupied to think that far ahead.
“Finally!” Chloe says when the bathroom door opens. “Why were you in the shower for thirty-five minutes?” she asks as I round the corner to grab clean clothing from my suitcase. “I mean, there’s a water shortage in the Mountain States, Boyd…” She trails off when she realizes I’m naked save for the towel.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” I respond sardonically and step back into the bathroom to dress.
Chloe’s quiet when I return. She’s sitting in the middle of the bed, legs bent with her arms wrapped around them, staring at me. There’s entirely too much of her legs exposed for my liking so I tell her to take a shower because I’m not quite sure how to tell her to put on some goddamned pants without sounding like a dick.