Page 27 of Badd Love
I left the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I went into the kitchen, located her coffeemaker and supplies, and started a pot. While it brewed, I braced my hands on the counter and breathed, focusing on nothing, willing my erection to go away so I could relieve my screaming, aching, burning bladder. Normally, when I woke up with morning wood, it was gone by the time I reached the bathroom, because normally, morning wood wasn’t about arousal, it was just a physiological thing, and often because of a full bladder. This was not that, and the bastard wasnotgoing away.
Mainly because my stupid monkey brain kept unhelpfully supplying me with a montage of erotic images involving Lindsey and that perfectly plump peach and all the sinful things I want to do to her.
"Still having your…ummm, problem?" I heard and jumped, startled.
"Shit!" I gasped. "Yes. I am."
She stood behind me, hesitated. "I…um. I don't know what to say."
"Nothing to say," I growled. "I have to piss, but the hard-on won't go away."
"Think about dead kittens and naked nuns?" she suggested.
"That doesn't work," I mumbled. "Nothing is working."
"Morning wood usually goes away on its own pretty fast, I thought. That's what my ex always told me."
I sighed. "Not morning wood."
"Oh. Ummm…"
I turned on her—which was a mistake. That shirt barely cleared her crotch, and now I knew she was naked under it. Her nipples were hard, poking against the material. I felt my cock twitch—going harder rather than softer. "It's your fault."
"M-mine?" she squeaked. “How is itmyfault?"
I advanced on her, erection first. "Ask me how I know you're not wearing any panties, Lindey.”
Her face goes white and then red. "Oh. I…um. You—I—”
I stepped closer again, until we were not quite touching—you couldn't fit a sheet of paper between her tits and my chest, but we weren't touching. I tugged the hem of her shirt up, keeping my eyes firmly on hers. "Ask me how I know you have a triangle of freckles right…here." I traced a triangle on her right ass cheek, near the top on the outside, just below that sexy fucking dimple, where the freckles were, according to my very vivid memory.
"Dane," she whispered.
"I woke up with my hands all over this gorgeous ass of yours," I murmured, palming both cheeks. "And now all I can think about is what I'd like to do to it."
She whimpered, leaning into me, crushing her tits against me, gazing up at me with her mouth hanging open, eyes wide. "I can't."
"I know."
"You have to know it's not because I don't like you or that I'm not attracted to you," she whispered.
"Idon'tknow that, as a matter of fact,” I said. “I don't know anything for sure, at least when it comes to what you're thinking or feeling." I slid my hand up and pinched her erect nipple. “Is this because you're cold?"
"No,” she breathed. "I do want you."
"But?"
A hard swallow. “If you were anyone else, I'd help you out, Dane. But it's you. And I can't."
"I don't understand."
"I'm fucked up right now, and it's because of you. Not that you did anything wrong—you didn't. I just…it'snotyou, really. It’s…ah, shit, I’m not making any goddamn sense.” She rests her forehead on my chest, sighing. "Iwantto help you, Dane. But I…if I did, I'd…it'd be…I just can't. I'm sorry. It wouldn't be fair to you."
I turned away. "I get it."
"I don't think you do. That's no shade to you, Dane, I just don't think you can." Soft hands rested on my shoulders. "Go in there and take care of it."
"No."
