Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“Okay.”

I stand there, mesmerized, as subtle changes happen to Gavin’s gorgeous face. The smile fades and he swipes his tongue out to wet his lips. His pupils enlarge and his eyes drop to my mouth. When his lids lower, I notice how long and dark his eyelashes are. Christ, he really is good-looking—like grace the cover of magazines and sell designer underwear good-looking.

A rosy flush speads up his neck to his defined cheekbones, cutting deep red slashes across the tan skin. I try to swallow but my own tongue is too thick and too dry all of a sudden. Gavin leans in a little closer. Close enough for me to get a whiff of coconut, sending even more blood rushing to my dick.

I swear I’d think Gavin is about to kiss me.

With that realization, I jump back as if electrocuted, pulling my arm from his grasp.

“Uh, yeah. So your room is down that way. I’m going to, uh, grab a shower,” I stammer.

Without looking back, I flee for my bedroom as fast as my aching knee allows and shut the door, leaning against it. Jesus. What the hell was that? Untapped lust zings through my blood, pounding behind my eardrums.

I rub my forehead and groan. I can’t even begin to comprehend what just happened in the kitchen. He’s a fucking client for Christ’s sake. He’s a fucking man! That’s the more important bit in this scenario. The bit I’m determined to ignore.

My cock, however, is determined to remember every single part of my encounter with Gavin. I press down on it with the heel of my hand, but that only makes things worse.

Annoyed and feeling grubby from not having brushed my teeth or changed my clothes in twenty-four hours, I strip and start the shower, turning it as cold as I can stand. After shivering for five painful minutes without my dick budging an inch, I give in and crank it up to a normal temperature.

“Dammit,” I mutter, staring at my traitorous cock. “You stupid bastard.”

Now I’m talking to my dick.

I can’t go back out there with a massive erection in my pants. That’s something I expect Gavin would notice immediately. Screw him for putting me in this position! I’m not attracted to men. It’s just been awhile, that’s all.

Uh-huh.

Thoroughly pissed off, I grab the soap. When I pour some out and lather up. I think about the soap at Gavin’s house. It’s why he always smells like a day at the beach. His soap. Shaking my head, I wash everything except the pulsing red hard-on jutting out angrily from my groin.

The temptation is too great and the ache is too unavoidable, especially thinking about Gavin’s scent. Unable to hold back any longer, I wrap my hand around the hot length and give my cock a firm squeeze. That action sends sensations so powerful through my body and down to my toes that my legs almost buckle. A long, slow, pull draws a groan fro

m my chest.

Jesus, it’s been too long since I’ve come. After the disaster with Hailey and the case and everything else, I haven’t so much as touched my dick. And now the need for release is bordering on desperation.

I stroke faster, swiping my thumb over the bulbous head with each pass. The pleasure is so intense, I have to brace my free hand on the tile wall so I can drop my head and piston my hips to fuck my fist. The orgasm begins deep in my balls, rapidly building into the perfect storm of ecstasy that gathers toe-curling power.

The first pulse takes me by surprise, and Gavin’s face flashes in my mind as I stroke and groan my way through each jet until I’m drained. Panting from one of the strongest orgasms of my life, I rinse away the evidence and turn off the water.

My cheeks heat up with shame. Then I get angry. Who cares? It’s only a fantasy, right? It’s not like I actually want the guy.

Not entirely sure if I convinced myself, I pull my clothes on so I can get started on solving this damn case.

Chapter 4

Gavin

A doorbell followed by the loud noise of feet pounding unevenly down a flight of stairs lures me out of my room. After the horrifyingly uncomfortable moment I shared with Mitch this morning in his kitchen, I locked myself into the only spare room with a bed and haven’t been out since.

I can’t even look at the guy without sprouting wood. Especially not after passing the master bedroom earlier and hearing him moan in the shower. I stood there like a creeper, listening and briefly entertaining the idea that Mitch might be jerking off to images of me. Afterwards, I realized how stupid I was being.

The man is straight. Quite obviously so. He probably went to his room to look at het porn in order to bleach his brain of any trace of my gayness.

But the sounds he made in the shower, the grunts, the groans, that shocked gasp at the end? I want to see what Mitch looks like when he makes those noises. I want to be the one to cause Mitch to make those noises.

And don’t those thoughts just make me hate the man even more.

“Gavin!” Mitch’s deep, decidedly angry voice booms from downstairs. I put down my guitar and descend to the main floor, where I find Mitch fuming in the kitchen.