After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, I glance at my phone to find only ten minutes have passed since the last time I checked. I’d watch a movie or read a book but my mind is too restless to focus. I need to relax. Need to work off this energy. But the only activity that would result in both of those things has me visualizing Jude naked and doing deliciously dirty things to my body while I touch myself. As sexually frustrated as I am, I refuse to give in to that urge.
It would be a dangerous slippery slope, fantasizing about fucking him. I might develop feelings. I might act on said feelings. I would absolutely end up hurt. That’s the number one reason I shouldn’t sleep with him. Besides, we both agreed to those terms during my stay, and at the end of the day, I really don’t want to fuck Jude.
Liar.
It’s the dog. It’s cute as hell little man, Walter. That’s what has me softening my feelings toward Jude. Waver in my resolution to keep things platonic. That and the almost kiss in the club. Or the fact he gave me his room. The glimpses I get of his generous and protective spirit. My fingers slide under the waistband of my sleep shorts.
Ugh. I can’t lay here anymore.
Quiet as possible, I slip out from the bed and crack my door slowly. The condo is silent. Jude’s probably been asleep for hours. I step past his closed door and move toward the kitchen, my destination a glass of water.
A groan, manly and low, stops me in my tracks.
Was that . . ?
“Yes.” Jude’s familiar tone drags out the word. “Yeah, sweetheart. Touch me like that. You know that makes me hard.”
Shit. Did he invite someone over? While I’m staying here! The last thing I want to see is Jude fucking some woman. What is wrong with me? And what is wrong with Jude? He has a freaking bedroom, why is he sexing some girl in the living room?
Carefully, I retreat to sneak back to my room.
“Rachel, fuck me.”
Rachel? Did he just call her Rachel? Jealousy, ugly and green, pulses inside. Is he sleeping with someone named Rachel? Sick curiosity pushes me closer to the groans of pleasure. His voice carries in the quiet. Strange. No other voice or sounds add to the mix.
Four more steps and I peer around the corner to discover why.
Jude. Gloriously naked. Reclined on the sofa. Alone. My breath catches at the sight of him. One fist strokes up and down his thick cock. The other brushes across his chest, over his nipples, and back down his abs. He’s touching himself. He’s saying my name and touching himself.
Why is that so hot? My breath hitches. Shivers shoot down my spine. My body feels hot all over. Fuck. I’m turned on. So turned on, in fact, that it takes all my resolve not to give in to the urge to stay here and remain watching. Or slide a hand into my shorts. Maybe join him?
That’s the thought that sends me flying back to my room. No, this is his room. Fuck. I lock the door behind me so I’m not tempted to invite him in. This is what happens when you abstain for months, letting the sexual frustration build. Right?
I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, as if somehow that will wash away the image of him hard, erect, and stroking himself. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite back a groan of frustration, then stomp back to bed. I spend way too much effort arranging the pillows before flopping back onto them. But it doesn’t help. My heart still races. The naughty visions race through my mind. I strain to listen for any movement or sounds in the condo.
Does he know I watched him?
That it turned me on?
Was that his plan?
My body buzzes, amped up with anticipation and needing release.
I could take care of this myself. I packed my vibrator. Not that I planned on using it, but more, I didn’t trust my roommates with anything left behind. Besides, it’s too loud. He’ll hear me, like I heard him. Does that make it fair play? Fuck. What is wrong with me? I am not getting myself off, in his sheets, when he’s down the hall doing the same.
I inhale slowly, desperately calming my thoughts and racing heart. Mistake. Big mistake. Because his sheets, they smell like him—all masculine, strong, and take charge. Okay, so I don’t really understand how something can smell strong and dominant, but I swear his bed does.
Fuck. I want nothing more than for Jude to take charge with me.
Rachel. The memory of how my name sounded on his lips scatters goose bumps across my flesh.
Screwed. That’s exactly what I am when it comes to getting sleep tonight, and not for the reason my body wants.
28
Jude
Giving Rachel my bedroom is self-induced torture. All I can do is imagine her in my sheets doing naughty, depraved things. It’s what I jacked off to last night in the living room after she retreated to my room for the night, and again this morning in the shower. Yet when she walks out, ready for work in one of her outfits that begs for my eyes to stayed glued to her body, I have to move behind the kitchen island to adjust myself. It’s that or embarrass myself. Fuck. I’m sixteen all over again in her presence. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” She won’t meet my eyes. Strange.
“Breakfast?”
“I’ll eat at the studio.” She glances around, her gaze stuttering on the view of the ocean. The morning fog obstructs most of it, but in another hour it’ll burn off. Still, the view is impressive. The floor-to-ceiling windows sold me on this place.
“Do you mind dropping me off a few minutes early?” She doesn’t lift her gaze
