The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(36)

I stand, adjust the raging hard-on inside my pants, and cross the room. I grab the shirt that’s been folded into a neat cotton square off the dresser, and, lifting it to my nose, I give it a whiff. “Mmm, smells like you. I’ll probably never wash it again.”

Jameson’s trembling hands reach for it. “Just give it to me.”

“See? Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about…”





Jameson




Oh my god, I have to pee.

Bad.

In total darkness, I ungraciously slide out of bed as quietly as I can so I don’t wake a slumbering Oz—who, it turns out, is a total bed hog—and feel my way along the wood-paneled wall in the general direction of the bathroom.

Thankfully, the light is already on, the overhead light above the tub emitting a dull glow. I have to pee so bad my fingers are already inside the waistband of my underwear when I beeline for the toilet in a squat. Shoving them down around my ankles, I lower myself with a relieved groan.

I pee, eyes squeezed shut to ward out the glow, only cracking them open when I fail to find the end of the toilet paper.

I shimmy my sheer, blue underwear up my slender thighs.

Turn to flush.

Raise my head to check myself in mirror as I wash my—

“Fuck Jameson.” My name is drawn out in a husky, forced moan.

I gasp, scared shitless.

“Holy shit!” I yell, swatting a startled hand toward Oz. If I had a weapon, I’d club him with it. “You *! You scared the crap out of me—”

“Fuck Jameson.”

“Wh-what…I’m so sorry. I thought you were in bed!”

I spin toward the sink, our eyes meeting in the mirror, mine widening in shock, his in pleasure, then I finally let them trail down his thick, bent, pumping arm. Red mesh athletic shorts pool around his ankles, his large hand wrapped around the length of his hard—

“Oh my god.”

I do a swift check, just to be sure. Yup. Sebastian Osborne is masturbating in the bathroom, and I just peed two feet from him.

Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it.

And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to.




Sebastian




“Oh my god Oz, what the hell are you doing!” The high-pitched indignation is completely unnecessary as Jameson meets my aroused, half-lidded eyes in the mirror. Hers are round with shock and horror and something else entirely as she casts surreptitious glances down at my stroking palm.

Twice.

Three times.

“I would think it was pretty obvious what I’m doing,” I grunt out, words catching with each even stroke. “Besides, this is your fault.”

“My fault!” She stands frozen at the sink, back to me while water drips from her wet hands. “You’re masturbating while I peed, you freaking creeper! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Maybe you should have thought of all this before you stripped down to that skimpy underwear and got me hard with that shaved * of yours.”

“I-I…how…”

Another slow stroke up and down the blunt tip of my dick and my eyes flutter shut. “Everything about you makes me hard. I don’t know what my f*cking problem is.” Goddamn this feels good. “Jesus Jameson, the door was closed. Who’d you think was in here?”

“I… You didn’t lock it, jackass! Plus, it’s one o’clock in the morning! I thought you were in bed!”

“I was. Now I’m not.”

For the fourth time, her eyes stray, landing on the hard, pulsing cock in my hand. I pump it once while she watches and let out a satisfied groan as it gets harder while I fist it.

“You disgust me.”

Such a pretty little liar.

“Do I really? Then why are you…ugh f*ck me…” I pant. “Why are you still standing there? You like it, don’t you?”

Shit, I’ve never been one for exhibitionism in the past, but having her watch me jack off gets me even harder.

Holy hell, that little she-devil f*cking likes it.

Seconds go by before she remembers herself, before she spins on her heel and slams out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her with a bang. It rattles on its hinges but I don’t hear her footfalls walk away.

Instead, I recognize the sound of someone slouching against the door. A few more seconds, and a throat is cleared.

“Hey Oz?”

I stroke myself slowly to the sound of her voice, teeth raking my bottom lip. “Yeah?”

I stop myself from adding baby, an instinctual reply I somehow don’t think she’d appreciate.

Another rapid stroke. Shit. Fuck. I’m so close to coming.

“Sorry I busted in on you.”

My thumb caresses the tip of my cock, spreads the pre-come, and I suck in a labored breath to control the inflection of my speech when the first tell of my balls tightening makes them ache.

Somehow, I find my voice. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure you wanna watch…oh f*ck this feels good.”

The sound of her labored breathing comes at me muted and I imagine her, forehead pressed to the cool door, listening.

She is listening to me jerk it—I just f*cking know it.

“Say something.”