Ocean (Damage Control 5)

Mom’s sickness. The money issues. The change in my plans.

In my life.

I’m not leaving. But I don’t know where the fuck to go from here. I’m in Kayla’s apartment, Kayla’s shower, and I’ve told her I’m not gonna leave—but she doesn’t know what I mean, does she? I never explained. Never told her much about myself.

Don’t even know if she wants me. What she wants from me. If anything at all.

And I’m about to pour my fucking heart out to her, tell her things that might well make her hate me and run the other way.

She asked me to come back, though. She’s taking care of me.

And she doesn’t know anything of importance about me.

Fuck… I rest my forehead on the cool tiles as the hot water beats down on my back. Never been so out of sorts in my whole damn life, and that’s saying a lot. Never wanted a chick with both my mind and body.

Why do I need her so badly? Why am I doing this to myself? I never thought I was a masochist.

But there’s never been anyone like her for me, ever.

Goddammit.

Thinking about her, even in the sorry state I’m in gets my dick twitching. Her memory is inextricably woven in my mind with sex and food. Soup, muffins, donuts—kissing, touching, coming.

Kayla.

Biting back a moan, I slide my hand down to grip my hard-on. My pulse is pumping at the base, my balls drawing in tight as I tug and drag my fist to the tip and back.

What if Kayla walked in and saw me beating my meat? Would she watch? Would she join me? Would she take off her clothes and press her bare tits to my back, reaching around to help me jack off—or would she come around in front of me and let me pound into her until we both come?

Christ, can’t believe how damn close I am to shooting my load. My ribs burn like fire, and my wrist hurts, and I can’t stop jerking off to the image of her.

I hear a creak and glance sideways in time to see the door of the bathroom open and Kayla enter carrying a folded towel.

She freezes, eyes round, like a deer caught in the headlights.

My grip on my junk tightens. The air leaves my lungs. What will she do? My memory’s full of her taste, her moans, her gorgeous tits, her sweet scent.

She’s coming closer, her face flushed, the towel forgotten in a pile on the floor. Her red hair curls at her temples, fine and shiny, and her mouth is pursed as if blowing a kiss. Her low-cut sweater shows me the deep shadow between her tits.

If possible, I get harder.

“I came to see,” she swallows, “if you needed help.”

“I do,” I mutter and let my gaze trail from her tits to her legs, and then back up, slowly, until I reach her face.

“What do you want?”

“You.” I shake my head, but it’s the truth, and I can’t fight it any longer. “I want you.”

A smile spreads on her pretty face. It’s like the sun coming up, and it’s sexy as fuck. Especially when she starts undressing.

Holy shit. My fantasy is coming true. I tighten my grip on my dick to stop from coming—because not yet, dammit—as she tugs off her long sweater, her tits threatening to spill over the cups of her pink bra, and then they actually sort of spill out when she bends over to push down her jeans.

God. Dammit. My dick twitches in my hand.

Mind control. I can do this.

I grind my teeth and try to look away—but I find I fucking can’t. My gaze is glued on this girl as she kicks off her shoes, her jeans, her socks, and stands in front of me in her mismatched pink bra and red panties.