Dirty Thoughts - Megan Erickson Page 0,20

fabric between her legs to the side, and bury himself inside of her. If she was any other girl, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But she wasn’t. She was Jenna.

He had . . . things with Jenna. A past. Fucking feelings. Goddamn feelings. And they fucked everything up, because then a fuck wasn’t a simple fuck. It was complicated and messy because he wouldn’t want one time with her. He’d want it again and again.

So he’d made the right decision. He was about two cats away from being a hermit anyway, so he didn’t think he’d see her around town much. He’d make Brent deal with her cars, although he sighed when he thought about how much fun that conversation would be.

He pulled into his driveway and steered his bike into the garage. He kept his truck parked outside, because he cared a hell of a lot more about his bike than that old rusted thing on four wheels.

He’d ridden a couple of used bikes before saving up for his current ride—a 2013 Harley-Davidson Softail Deluxe. It had a retro look, with whitewall tires, a thick fork, and triple headlights. He ran his hands over the black seat and the red and silver body.

So yeah, this beauty got the garage. His truck could rust out in the driveway.

Inside the house, he threw his keys onto the kitchen counter and walked upstairs, disrobing as he went, eager to get a shower to wash this day off him.

When he finally stood naked under the hot spray, his erection, which had never really gone away, decided to make a reappearance.

He reached down and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, stroking once as he braced his other hand on the wall in front of him. He widened his legs, feeling that familiar pull in his gut, the need to come.

He thought about the last girl he’d dated but blurred faces rolled through his vision, like a lottery slot machine, until it finally stopped to focus on Jenna’s hazel eyes.

He groaned, stroking his cock harder, hating himself because he knew it was going to be a while before he was able to get himself off with anything but the memory of her.

Her tans thighs, that tiny scrap of white lace. Why hadn’t he tugged it aside when he had the chance? Then at least he’d have the image of her—all pretty, pink, and wet for him.

Instead, he felt her on his thumb. He’d driven home in that damn cab with the scent of her all around him. On him.

He should have known a shower wasn’t going to do anything to get her out of his head.

His balls tightened, and he breathed hard, his wet chest rising and falling as the water beat on his back, over his ass, and down his legs. If he hadn’t formed a conscience, he could be in the shower with her right now, with those long legs wrapped around his waist, her hands in his wet hair, her head thrown back, body quivering, as he plunged into her again and again and again until she made that sound he remembered and shuddered around him.

He came hard and afterward, with exhaustion seeping into his bones, he leaned forward, bracing himself now with his forearm on the wall. He let his head fall with a thunk. He was breathing hard, and his legs were shaking. The water was beginning to lose heat now, and he knew if he didn’t get out soon, he was going to be suffering through a cold shower. Maybe he should have started with that.

He snorted to himself as he quickly soaped down his body. That wouldn’t have mattered. He had to shower sometime, and Jenna was going to pop into his brain no matter how much he avoided it.

He rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, drying off and then throwing on a pair of cutoff sweatpants. He crawled into bed, glad he didn’t have to work tomorrow, because he was fucking beat.

He didn’t want to deal with people tomorrow. No fucking people. They were complicated.

Cal hated complicated.

THE SHRILL RING of his cell phone woke him up. Cal blinked and glanced at the clock. It was eight in the morning on a Sunday, so Cal knew perfectly well it was Brent. He didn’t bother glancing at the caller ID. “What.”

“Wakey, eggs and bakey!”

Cal almost hung up on him. Almost. He didn’t bother responding.

“Hello?” Brent asked.

“What do you want?”

There was a crashing sound in the background. “Hey, Gabe!”