Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(15)

It’s warm and the pressure is high, the water beating against my skin in pulsating jets. I wash my hair and then lather up, scrubbing my body clean, smoothing my hand over my cock. Closing my eyes, the image of a naked Rose Fowler pops into my brain. How wet her skin was, her hair slicked back from her angel face, the taste of her, warm and wet and with a hint of Champagne.

My cock lengthens, hardens. She’s been my beat-off material for the last few days. I have Whitney with her hands all over my dick and I barely react. I merely think of Rose and I’m hard as steel.

Leaning against the smooth white-tiled wall, I wrap my soap-slicked fingers around my cock and start stroking. My eyes are closed, imagining wet and sexy Rose kneeling before me, that pretty, innocent face staring up at me just before she lowers her thick lashes and leans forward, her perfect, lush mouth wrapping tight around my cock.

Jesus. I jerk hard, the orgasm coming at me fast. I can feel it forming at the base of my spine, like billowy clouds that grow dark and turbulent, heavy and swollen, eager to release the buildup of stormy rain.

This is me. My cock. Ready to f*cking explode at any minute.

It slams into me, hard and fast, a little groan escaping me as my semen spurts out in long, ropey streams, hitting the wall before it’s washed away. I slump against the wall, my exhaustion taking over. Combined with the brief satisfaction I gave myself, I’m ready to collapse into bed.

I get out of the shower and dry off quick, changing into a T-shirt and sweats before I exit the bathroom, glancing into an open door to find Whitney lying on top of her bed. Completely naked.

Shit.

“Whit.” I stay in the doorway, my already spent cock half-heartedly rousing when she rolls over onto her back and spreads her legs, offering me a special view. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She smiles, her hand trailing down to play between her legs. “I’ve missed you, Caden. I don’t know what else I can do to get that through your head.”

“Jesus, woman.” I drop my duffel just inside her bedroom by the door. I don’t want to stay in her bed. I don’t want her to get any ideas. “Let me get some sleep first.”

“No.” She sits up, scrambling to her knees, her expression fierce. “I thought by you staying with me, this was the sort of arrangement we would have. Am I wrong?” Hell. I didn’t think this through. I should’ve known Whitney would have expectations. Women are a pleasant distraction, one I haven’t indulged in for a long time. But I hadn’t planned on playing boyfriend/girlfriend with Whitney for the next few weeks.

I wish had a male friend who lived in London.

Deciding to hell with it, slowly I approach the bed, tearing off my shirt before I join her. “You’re not wrong,” I tell her, lying through my teeth. “But you want me at my best, right?”

She runs her hands over my chest before sliding one beneath the waistband of my sweats. “I want you any way I can get you. I’m horny. I’ve missed your dick.”

“What’s up with you? You’re not usually so—needy.” I choke the last word out when she wraps her fingers tight around my cock and starts to stroke.

“It’s been a while. Had a bad breakup a few months ago and no one has interested me since.” She’s pushing my sweatpants off, her fingers never leaving my cock as she continues to stroke.

“You had a boyfriend?” I’m surprised. We were always on the same page when it came to relationships. As in, we didn’t believe in them.

Shrugging, she removes her hands from my body and leans back against the headboard, suddenly looking vulnerable. “I thought we were in a relationship. Clearly I was wrong.”

“That’s where you made your first mistake.” The moment the words are said, I know I definitely made a mistake. She sends me a deathly glare, curling her arms in front of her chest as if she can ward me off.

“Maybe you should sleep in the guest room,” she says sullenly, kicking out her foot so she’s nudging my knee. Hard. “For now.”

Ha. Well, that worked and I didn’t even mean it to. “I’m sorry, Whit.” I grab my shirt and pull it back on. Whitney Banks is a spoiled little princess who always gets what she wants. So when she’s denied something, she lashes out. Sometimes physically. She slapped my face one time years ago and we got into a drunken shouting match.

“Ugh. Whatever. Don’t apologize. You’re probably right.” She pokes me in the thigh with her big toe, then scoots her leg away from me. She’s not inviting me back to her bed and I’m okay with that.

I get off the bed and go to grab my bag. She doesn’t say a word and neither do I, though I see her watching me, the scowl on her face unmistakable. Just as I’m about to make my way to the guest room, Whitney speaks up. “I’m going to dinner tonight with a group of friends. Care to join me?”

“That sounds good.” I glance at her from over my shoulder. “You don’t mind if I go?”

“Of course not. I’m sure my friends will love you. We’re going to a pub. I hope you like fish and chips?” She makes a little face.

“Do you like fish and chips?” I chuckle, thankful her anger seems to have evaporated quickly. Her rapid-fire moods can make my head spin and I want things easy between us, not a twisted-up, uncomfortable mess.