Page 69 of Scheme
I hummed noncommittally. “Captain Bridger can storm my gates any time he wants.”
Kit looked disdainfully at the slow-motion shot of said Captain walking toward the camera, gloriously backlit by the rising sun to best show off all those bulging muscles.
These films were dumb as rocks, but I could watch Aaron Tempest walk around all day. Bonus points for when they zoomed in on his biceps.
“Did you know he’s from Surrey?” I asked, doing my best to keep the conversation going. “His American accent is so good.”
Kit harrumphed, staring narrow-eyed at the screen. We watched for a while in silence as Captain Bridger repeatedly defied all laws of physics, my skin growing increasingly hot underneath all the blankets.
Well, maybe not just entirely from the blankets.
Maybe a little from how unfairly good Kit smelled. I briefly wondered if it would be too on the nose to extol the benefits of scentshield lotion.
“I’m going to shower,” Kit said suddenly. I blinked, wondering if I’d accidentally spoken my thoughts out loud.
“Okay. I’ll just… be here,” I replied lamely, positive I was turning a spectacular shade of crimson. “I mean, I won’t look.”
The ensuite ran parallel to the bedroom, with a divider wall in between, but if I looked around the corner, I’d be able to see him in the walk-in shower. Fortunately, there was a private lavatory at the other end, at least.
There was also a bathtub on a raised platform right here in the bedroom, but we were both studiously ignoring that.
Kit attempted to discreetly adjust himself as he stood, and I felt an answering twinge of awareness between my thighs.
“Right,” he agreed easily, turning to face me and walking backwards to the bathroom. “Hands to ourselves.”
What idiot had made up that rule? And why did he look so smug about it?
I groaned quietly the moment he disappeared, slamming my head back against the pillow, the sound muffled by the movie and the running shower.
The dull ache in my pussy that Kit seemed to spark to life by just existing was growing into a full-blownthrob, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, even though I was confident Bryce would have brand-new never touched knotted dildos somewhere in this house if I just went looking.
Nope, no, don’t think about it. Once the slickgates opened, there would be no stopping the ensuing flood. There were definite downsides to owning an omega vagina sometimes, and almost all of them were related to general decorum.
The rest was clean-up-related. Slick was a nightmare to get out of fabric.
I winced as Captain Bridger shot a bad guy in the chest, having never developed much of a stomach for violence. The movie was a bad idea.I could read a book!
As quietly as I could, I climbed out of bed, heading for my duffel bag where I’d tucked my e-reader, loaded up with a new financial planning book from a hip, young adviser I’d started following online. As cool and hip as she was, nothing would dehydrate my lady bits faster than money management.
Just as my hand touched the bag, a quiet grunt from the shower had me freezing in place, and that wasn’t the only noise I could hear. And thepheromones.
No wonder I was getting hornier by the second. Whether he meant to or not, Kit was filling the room witham alpha, will fuckenergy, and all my tingly omega bits had perked up in response.
Leave, I told myself sternly, closing my eyes for a second.Go outside and get some fresh, no-fuck-energy oxygen to clear your head.
I scrunched my eyes together with a grimace as the gusset of my knickers grew damp, flexing my hands at my sides to stop myself rubbing my clit to the muffled sounds of Kit jacking off.
No, I wasn’t going to stand for this double standard. If he was going to masturbate in our shared space and fling his hormones around like confetti, then I was too. This was aboutequality, damn it.
Was I going to regret this crusade for equal opportunity masturbating in the morning? Almost certainly. I had the foresight to realise that this would further blur lines that had long since grown fuzzy, but not the strength of will to stop myself.
Why did he have to smell so fucking good?
I crossed the room, leaning back against the wall separating us and listened to the addictive sound of wet skin on skin, Kit’s pace seeming leisurely. Occasionally, he let out quiet, muffled groans, and I wondered if he’d clapped a hand over his mouth. Or maybe he had one hand braced against the shower wall and was turning his mouth into his bicep to catch the noises?
I gave up all hopes of not rubbing my clit at that image. Fuck, was he hunched forward? Water running down his back? Over thosegloriousass cheeks?
I muffled a moan of my own, pressing my hand tightly to my mouth as I rubbed increasingly urgent circles around my clit, building myself higher and higher, my hips rocking of their own volition.
