Melting - Sean Ashcroft Page 0,27

not, it was only a shower.

And technically, this was my dad’s guesthouse. Even if Wes seemed to live here full-time.

I stumbled to the bathroom and turned the shower on, groaning involuntarily as the water pressure did its best to wake me up.

Dear god I was sore.

I’d used a lot of muscles last night that I hadn’t had to in a while. My throat felt like there was a stone in it.

… my cock was hard.

“Haven’t you had enough?” I asked it, looking down as it bobbed hopefully in front of me.

I didn’t have time. Pancakes were more important than jerking off.

Even if the shower gel I was using smelled of Wes. That smell brought the feel of him back, like he could’ve been under my hands right now, writhing and whimpering and gasping as I touched and kissed and licked and ground into him.

This line of thought wasn’t helping at all.

Think of the pancakes, Hayden.

Unfortunately, pancakes were also a sexy thought. Wes making pancakes was a sexy thought.

Anything Wes-adjacent was, well…

“Fine,” I said, bracing myself against the cool, smooth tiles. They warmed under my hand, and as I closed my eyes they transformed into Wes’s skin in my mind, the curve of his shoulder, the soft inside of his thigh, the perfect rise of his ass.

The shower gel was a thin imitation of Wes’s real scent, complex and masculine, but it was still fresh enough in my memory that my brain filled in the blanks for me, letting me breathe him in as though he was right there, naked, laughing again, moaning under my touch.

With all that and the delicious post-sex ache in my muscles, it didn’t take me long to finish, spilling over my own hand with a broken groan.

I shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and then wandered back to the bedroom to face my second problem—clothes.

As in, the clothes I’d left in a rumpled heap on the floor yesterday.

I picked up my underwear, physically recoiled at the thought of putting them on, and let them fall to the floor again. Aaron had always said I was a little… prissy… about things like that, but that was one thing I wasn’t about to change out of spite.

I only had to get as far as my own bedroom. Hmm.

There was a single chest of drawers in the room, and if I had to guess…

T-shirts in the top drawer, sweaters in the second, then underwear, then socks. That was how mine were organized, and it was the only logical way, as far as I was concerned.

I hesitated, then picked my way over to it, the feeling that I shouldn’t have been going through Wes’s drawers welling up in the pit of my stomach. He’d trusted me alone in his house, which probably meant he’d assumed I wouldn’t snoop.

Or alternatively, that there was nothing here he minded me seeing. Yeah. That made more sense.

At least, that was the best way of justifying this to myself.

I pulled open the third drawer to find it full of neatly-folded sweaters.

What?

Who put their sweaters in the third drawer? That didn’t make any sense.

Maybe it was in reverse. One more drawer, and if I didn’t find the clean underwear I was looking for, I’d give up.

I opened the second drawer and hit pay dirt. Half the drawer was neatly-folded rows of clean underwear.

… the other half of the drawer contained two new tubes of lubricant, an unopened box of condoms, and a bright purple object I was almost positive was a vibrator.

Okay, so… Wes had probably expected me not to snoop.

I changed my mind about borrowing his underwear—he’d know I’d been in the drawer if they were missing—and pulled my jeans on without any, leaving my own by the bed and promising myself I’d apologize for it as I pulled my t-shirt over my head.

I threw my jacket on as I crept out of Wes’s front door, taking a moment to plan my escape.

The guesthouse was shielded from the main house by a big whitewashed privacy fence that meant the door couldn’t be seen from the main house, so all I had to do was get clear of the fence, circle around, and sneak in the back way. Minimal chance of getting caught, maximum chance of pancakes.

I felt like I was in some kind of spy movie as I sprinted across the open ground, hoping my dad wouldn’t look out the window at that exact moment, my heart pounding as I reached the door of