Bad Cruz(55)

…so why can’t I give a damn about any of those things?

I turned off the faucet, wrapped a towel around my waist ,and stepped out of the bathroom. I found Tennessee flung on our bed, wearing one of the shirts I’d bought for her earlier today, makeup-free and edible to a fault.

She played with a tendril of her blonde hair, looking thoughtful as she peered up at me.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“Hardly.”

“I thought you weren’t into puns.”

“I have my moments.” I advanced toward our shared closet, tugging out a pair of briefs. I noticed her pillow fort was not in place yet. “Fair warning—I sleep in my underwear, so if that’s a problem…”

“It’s not a problem,” she replied quickly, turning scarlet everywhere visible. “Actually…”

I turned around almost violently, searching her face.

“Yes?”

Eager much, asshole?

“I was wondering…” She drew a circle with her finger on her thigh. “If you could teach me how to make out with a guy. Sorry I freaked out on you earlier. I’m pretty much out of my depth when it comes to the opposite sex. I know we don’t have much time here, but I think you’re right. It’d be nice to get the best out of the situation, seeing as we both know we don’t have any future together and this thing stops as soon as we go back home.”

I yanked the briefs up my legs under my towel. It was an ambitious move, but I’d seen women do something similar with their bras and shirts.

“No one at home can find out,” I clipped, feeling like an asshole, and no doubt sounding like one, too.

In my defense, I’d been so thoroughly rejected by her since age seventeen, I didn’t want to lose one iota of my charmed quality of life for the pleasure of having her as a fling.

“I know.” Tennessee sat up straighter in bed. “Trust me, my parents and sister would kill me a hundred times over if they find out I touched a hair on your golden head. Plus, I’m super damaged. There’s no way I could handle a relationship. I have a lot to lose, too.”

“And then there’s Rob,” I added, dropping the towel and advancing toward the bed, my junk safely covered by the briefs.

There was no way I was letting Gussman think I’d been pining for his ex-girlfriend for decades. That a small, awful part of me had been glad that he’d screwed off the way he had, because that meant she’d never take him back.

And now he was back and what the fuck did that mean for all of this?

“Yeah. Some friend you are.” Tennessee let out a throaty, sexy laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll never tell your buddy you’ve sampled my goods.”

She thought I was doing it out of loyalty to him. Well, the real reason—my fragile ego—wasn’t going to win me any personality points, so I decided to keep it to myself.

“Right,” I said, sliding under the covers.

A fresh rush of desire ran through my veins as my body found hers under the blanket. She looked so young without all the makeup and hairspray, I could almost imagine us as teenagers.

My cock, which had absolutely zero business getting up again not even ten minutes after I masturbated, already poked at her stomach between us, lazily swinging itself from side to side as it tried to catch her attention like an eager puppy.

“Holy cheat-balls. That thing’s huge.”

She touched my crown with the tip of her finger through my briefs, before jerking her hand away, like it was going to clamp its jaws on her.

“Seriously, you can put it on a leash and take it for a walk downtown.”

“Don’t you dare make another Weiner joke,” I warned, playing with the hem of her shirt for no reason at all other than the obvious—I had fondling privileges today.

“That thing has a mind of its own.” She lifted a speculative eyebrow, looking down between us. “Can I touch it again?”

You can take it home, put it in an aquarium, and call it Sally if it makes you happy.

“Absolutely. You can pet it, too. Squeeze. Lick. Suck. Fondle. It doesn’t bite, but it does occasionally spit. I’ll give you a heads-up before it does.”

She looked up at me excitedly, her eyes zinging with exhilaration. “There was a pun there, Dr. Cruz. Good job.”

She just talked to me like I was her preschool student.

…and I just plastered a goofy smile on, also like a preschool student.

Her long, pointy fingernails ran down my six-pack to my briefs, making my skin prickle deliciously. She slipped her hand into the fly, jerking my erect cock out like it was a chicken that was about to become her lunch.

I didn’t comment on the lack of finesse. Didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious.

She stroked it gently, mesmerized by it.

She was so fucking beautiful I didn’t know what to do with myself. Having her touch my dick after fourteen years of imagining it happening, did weird things to my chest.

“Is it good for you?” she murmured.

“It was good about three minutes ago, when you were sitting on the bed, simply existing. Now that you’re touching my dick, we are deep into divine territory, spiraling onward.”

I watched her intently.

She flipped the covers off of us so she could take a better look at my dick. She shifted and sat up straight as she played with it, her yellow hair falling across her face like glittering sunrays.