He nods as well as he can under the circumstances.
“You tell anyone about this, I won’t be happy, Paul.” I let him see the madness inside of me. Madness for her. “Do you want me to be unhappy?”
“No,” he gasps.
“No,” I agree, shaking my head. “You don’t.”
I let another few seconds pass, watching his skin turn chalky, before I step back and let him sink to the floor, covering his piss spot in shame. With my lip curled in disgust, I open the window closest to the road and climb out, not bothering to hurry toward where I’ve parked my Mustang half a mile away. There’s no one coming after me.
And I hang on to the broom and the uniform.
If I’m going to watch Peyton during the day, they’ll come in handy.
I jab the punching bag with my left fist, plowing my right into the leather quickly after, shaking the equipment’s chains where I’ve secured it to the rafters. A storage bay in the basement of the building is where I moved my workout area when she moved in and it’s where I’ve been forced to spend a lot of time. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling. Sweat travels down my bare chest, soaking into my gray sweatpants. My knuckles are beginning to bleed, but I keep punching, my lips peeled back in a growl.
I should be upstairs with Peyton, but my need for her is growing more excruciating by the second. Every time she flips her hair or smiles at me, my cock stiffens, throbs. I’m at the very edge, always seconds from pushing her down on the couch and climbing on top of her, ripping her out of whatever clothes she’s wearing and finally, finally burying myself between her thighs.
The night we met, I made myself a vow. The next time I come, it will be with her. For her. So I haven’t jerked off once. God, no. She owns my sperm now. It’s hers. Every single fucking drop. There is nothing that can derail me from that promise, but it’s getting more and more painful, leading to me coming downstairs and working out until I’m ready to collapse.
When I hear a creak on the stairs, my head comes up, salty moisture dripping into my eyes. I swipe it away and steady the bag, my heart shooting up into my throat when I see Peyton’s delicate toes come into view, followed by her smooth, slender calves, knees, the lacy hem of her pajama shorts. My dick aches with anticipation, wanting her, needing to be around her, while my mind rebels, knowing it’s a bad idea. Knowing I’m so close to snapping when she needs more time.
“Hey,” she says lightly, hesitantly, walking into my den, complete with a bench press, pull up bar, weights and punching bag. “Are you coming back upstairs?” she asks, twirling a curl around her finger. “I was going to make popcorn.”
There is nothing I want more in the world than to sit beside her on the couch and watch a movie. Every time we do it, she sits a little closer, her wariness of being around me ebbing. It’s a double-edged sword, though, inviting me to take too much. To take it all. “I think I’ll hit the bag a while longer,” I rasp, my gaze tracing the low neckline of her tank top. “Go ahead without me.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her disappointment is obvious and it burns me alive. “Is it…me? I hope I’m not making you feel uncomfortable in your own home.”
“It’s our home, Peyton.” My throat feels raw, my cock is pounding and I want her so bad, I’m shaking. That’s probably why I let the next part slip out. “You make me uncomfortable, honey. Just not in the way you’re thinking.”
Her eyes widen. “How?”
Against my better judgment, I step out from behind the punching bag and let her see my erection. Without my shirt on, there’s nothing to hide the hard ridge that stretches the material. My hand goes to it without a direct command from my brain, stroking the length once and gripping. “Uncomfortable like this,” I grunt.
“Oh.” Her complexion deepens with color, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shorts. “I, um…I know men have to relieve themselves from time to time. Do you feel weird about…doing that to yourself when I’m home? I could take a walk—”
“No.” The idea of her going on a walk by herself at night makes my stomach churn. If she ever attempted it, I’d be following her in the shadows. “No, you don’t have to go anywhere. Ever. If I just hit the bag a while longer…”
What?
My erection will go away?
There’s no chance of that as long as she walks the earth.
What if this moment is an opportunity, though? Hopefully my lust-fogged brain isn’t causing me to make a mistake when I say, “You could watch me.”