Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(55)

I want to be touched like that.

I want to be worshipped.

I want to feel fucking wanted.

“You’re easily the most attractive, nicest man I’ve ever met, despite your penchant to be grouchy a lot of the time.” She stands in front of me and hinges at the hip so we’re eye to eye. She lifts her hand to my cheek and slowly brings her thumb over my lips, dragging it down. I consider sucking her finger into my mouth or pulling her onto my lap . . . possibly laying her across me so I can spank her ass, just like I wanted to when she was working out. “You deserve better,” she whispers. “You deserve a woman who not only wants your cock . . . but craves it.” And with that, she lifts and turns so all I see is her perfect backside walking away. She glances over her shoulder where she catches my wandering eyes, fixated on exactly what she wants me to fixate on. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be in your living room, waiting whenever you want to take me home.”

How about never?

How about you come sit on my goddamn lap right now?

How about you let me fuck you so I can get this burning feeling out of my system that seems to develop whenever you’re around?

“Okay,” I answer in a strangled voice, my cock begging for her touch. “Shower for me, too.”

She winks. “Don’t think about me while you’re in there.” And then she retreats to the guest shower.

Don’t fucking think of her?

Next to impossible.

I make a beeline for my bedroom, and once I’m inside, I rip my towel off, go straight to the shower, and flip on the water. I step in, gather some soap in my hand, and then perch my arm against the tile as I grip my hard dick and stroke.

“Fuck,” I moan quietly.

Don’t think about me?

How could I fucking not?

For the past hour and a half, I’ve been suffering through blue balls as I watched her squat, experienced her stretched out in my sauna, beads of sweat dripping down her soft skin, then getting a show of her ass as she walked away, all tight and high, begging for my hands . . . for my cock.

“Fuck me,” I mutter and pump harder.

Ollie in her crop tops, no bra . . . nipples hard.

Ollie in that dress from her fundraiser and her phenomenal tits.

Ollie in her workout outfit . . .

I pump harder, my balls already beginning to tighten.

I bite down on my lip, my impending orgasm seconds away.

Don’t be fucking loud.

Don’t be . . .

“Oh . . . God.” I hear through the bathroom vent, causing my eyes to nearly pop open. Was that Ollie?

It had to be.

Is she, fuck, is she getting off too?

Just the thought of her touching herself in my apartment has me gripping my cock tighter and shooting right over the edge.

I bite down on my forearm as I come all over the shower tile.

My entire body shakes as I steady myself and push off the wall. I slip under the hot water and let it drip down my body as I think about how that was the first time I jacked off to Ollie. And how it won’t be the last.





Chapter Eleven





OLLIE





Ollie: What are you up to?

Silas: Stretching my quads.

Ollie: So, riveting stuff, huh?

Silas: Very.

Ollie: Well, I have nothing going on, and I figured since you don’t have anything going on either, we could make some of our story a reality.

Silas: Why am I now scared?

Ollie: Don’t be. But if you’re up for it, come pick me up at my dorm in thirty.

Silas: So . . . I’m going to have to pick you up? How is that fair? Aren’t you the one asking me to do something?

Ollie: It’s not fair. See you in thirty, don’t be late.

Silas: Can I at least ask what the hell we’re doing?

Ollie: I’ll tell you when you pick me up. Now, move along.





“Hey,” I say as I hop in Silas’s car and shut the door. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a white shirt, and a denim long-sleeved jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as well as a very Silas-like scowl. “What’s with the face?” I ask, pressing my fingers to the furrow in his brow.

“What’s with those shorts?”

I glance down at my shorts and back up at him. “Uh . . . nothing.”

“They look like underwear.”

“Could you imagine?” I laugh and buckle up. “God, that would be uncomfortable.” I tug on the sleeves of my cardigan and smile at him.

“Ollie,” he says in a dark, unamused tone.

“What?” I ask, and he gives me a look I don’t appreciate. “I can see that you’re trying to be a controlling asshole at the moment, so I’m going to give you a good ten seconds to change that attitude before I rip you a new one.”

“I’m not trying to be a controlling asshole. I just think those shorts are really short, and if we go somewhere in public, we will have pictures taken of us. Do you want those shorts plastered everywhere?”

“Sure, why not?” I say so nonchalantly that I know it’s killing him. “If people want to stare at my ass, that’s their prerogative. But this bodysuit is comfortable, these shorts are comfortable, and this cardigan gives me all the warmth from the breeze blowing through Vancouver today. Now, unless you have something nice to say, I think we should just forget we had this conversation and move forward.”