King Hunt (Boys of Brisley 1)

“Say my name, sweetheart. Loud enough for me to hear,” I whispered. “Invite me in ... come on. Show me what a good girl you can be.”

The vibrations abruptly stopped, the music ending a moment later, and all I heard after that was silence. I felt robbed, cheated, strung out like an addict who had gone too long without a fix, and I was knocking on her door before I could stop myself.

The unmistakable sound of a gasp traveled under the door, along with her tripping on her way over. I even heard her take a deep breath before her hand touched the knob — I heard all of it, all except what I craved.

The door cracked open, wide pupils and grey eyes met mine, her cheeks flushed and chest still heaving and I finally had a fraction of what I wanted. You’re beautiful after an orgasm, Zeppelin.

It hit me then that I had no reason to knock, so I improvised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just forgot to tell you I’ll be here in the morning so I’ll get up with him. You can sleep in, if you’d like.”

She nodded quickly, blinking too many times for a sane person, but when she bit her bottom lip and her eyes raked my face and chest I realized she wasn’t exactly sane — not right then. “Thank you, Sterling. Sleep well.”

She closed the door before I could do anything about it, and I recognized the dismissal for what it was. Knowing it was for the best didn’t make me feel any better in the moment, though, nor did it make me any less achingly fucking hard for her — but just like all other nights for the last few months, I’d be taking care of that with my hand.

At least I didn’t have to guess what I’d be thinking of.