He scowls from the entrance to the pool house. “I thought I could trust you.”
Suddenly, Amy’s standing next to him, and she elbows him in the side. “Would you shut up? Kace needs this.” She waves her hand toward Stella. “Go on. Fuck her. I’m so proud of you, Kace. Don’t stop now.”
Where the hell did they come from? I turn back to Stella, but she’s sitting in the corner now, curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees. “I feel sick. I see it every time I close my eyes.”
My eyes fly open, and my heart races.
A dream. It was just a dream.
A twisted, screwed-up dream that would better qualify as a nightmare.
Where the fuck did that even come from? Okay, I get the weirdness about Dream Dean thinking I was using his sister for sex. Part of me feels shitty about a just-for-sex hookup with anyone, but Stella? Fuck. There’s a much larger part of my brain that knows that’s uncool.
But what she said at the end about seeing it every time she closed her eyes—those were her words when we got her out of that apartment and away from her creep landlord. So am I the creep in this situation? Apparently my subconscious doesn’t do subtle.
Yawning, I climb out of bed and head toward the bathroom to take a piss. The maneuvers I have to do to hit the toilet with this hard-on could land me a spot on America’s Got Talent, but since I haven’t had sex in going on two years, I’m getting used to the morning wood acrobatics.
After washing my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror and run a hand over my beard. It’s gotten scruffy, and my hair’s getting a little long. My sister calls this my lumberjack look. I’m tempted to shave the beard and start over, but any time I seriously consider it, Stella will make some comment about how hot she thinks it is, and I can’t bring myself to do it.
And if that doesn’t just sum up the clusterfuck my life’s become, I don’t know what does. I won’t shave my beard because I don’t want Stella to be less attracted to me, even though I’m trying like hell not to be attracted to her.
When I turn on the shower, the pipes rattle in the walls. I need to check for a clog in the plumbing vent—need to do about a hundred things where this old house is concerned.
To prepare for my day, I try to make a mental checklist of the house-related tasks I want to get through while Hope’s with her mom. But as I step under the hot spray, my mind quickly wanders from what I should be thinking about to what my still-hard dick wants to think about. Those too-brief minutes in the pool house yesterday. The dream before it got weird. Stella in my arms, turned on and gasping, rocking against me. “Please.”
I close my eyes as I focus on that one word, stroke my hand up my aching erection, and play that part of the dream on repeat—her perfect lips as she whispered, “Please.”
I didn’t want to send her home last night. I wanted to bring her into my empty house and strip her naked. I would’ve peeled off her cover-up and then taken my time with the bikini. She would’ve trembled beneath my touch as I slid my hands down her arms and kissed my way up her neck. Her skin would’ve been soft under my mouth, but her hand in my hair would’ve been a little rough, just like when I had her alone earlier in the day. I would’ve kissed my way down her chest and flicked my tongue beneath the cups of her bikini until her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore and I had to lead her to the couch. She would’ve held my gaze as she peeled my swim trunks from my hips, and when I tried to move to sit beside her, she would’ve given me that wicked, sexy smile of hers and guided me to stand.
I palm my balls and shudder as I imagine her pink lips grazing the tip of my cock. I’ve fantasized about that mouth countless times in the past few months . . . fuck, years. So often that it’s second nature to conjure the image now. I grip myself tight and slide my hand up and down in long, slow strokes as I let the fantasy take over. Stella teasing my cock with her tongue. Her hands on my thighs then sliding around to grip my ass as she moves to her knees and takes me deep.
My strokes become shorter, my grip tighter, and I jerk into my hand at the mental picture. Her mouth would feel amazing, but I’d need more, so I’d pull away before I came, bend her over the couch, and drive—