cupcake and put one candle in it, and Dad would give me whatever cash he had left from paying bills that month.”
We looked at one another and a million things passed unsaid between us. “Seems like some of those things sorta match mine,” she said.
I cleared my throat. “I noticed that, too.” I laughed. “Never thought I’d tell anyone any of that.”
“Me either.”
Silence.
“I’m gonna try to sleep, now,” I said, eventually.
“Me too.”
I finally managed to fall asleep, but my dreams were of Torie.
Of doing the things on our lists…together.
Torie
When I woke up, Rhys had already made coffee, and had bacon frying. Good lord, I could get used to waking up to the smell of coffee and bacon.
He was shirtless, in nothing but a pair of gym shorts. They were a little too big for him, hanging low on his hips. Facing away from me, he had his phone in his pocket and earbuds trailing by the cord, and he was dancing. God, it was freaking adorable. He was shaking his hips, waving his hands around, a pair of tongs in one hand. Head bobbing side to side.
The shorts revealed just a hint of his buttocks, the dip of the crack and upper swell of each firm cheek. His back was broad yet lean, rippling with muscle.
I pretended I was sleeping so I could watch him.
He did a spin, faced me and, holy shitballs, his abs were absurd. Ripped. Hard. The baggy shorts hung down past his hips, revealed those sharp lines leading in a V down to his groin, and as he shook his hips to whatever music he was listening to, I could see his cock swaying against the front of the shorts, pushing and pressing.
My thighs pressed together, and my belly tightened, and my core heated. Liquid heat pooled in my center, and my nipples ached. My breasts felt heavy, tight. The way he moved, the way he danced…god, I wanted to move with him. Press up against him, slide against his hard body, touch his bare skin, feel the muscles of his back shifting under his skin, slide my hand under the waist of his shorts and cup that hard ass, feel it move under my palm. Slide my touch around and grasp him…
I closed my eyes and turned over, as if rolling over in my sleep.
Need pounded in me.
He was right there.
I couldn’t.
NO.
But my fingers slid down and dipped into the front of my sleep shorts. I touched my clit. I lay on my side, knees drawn up, feigning sleep, keeping my breathing steady. Hoping his earbuds would block out whatever sounds I made. Hoping he was cooking bacon and not watching me.
Because I was feeling just reckless and careless and achy enough to do this. Now. No matter what.
I desperately needed the release.
I moved my upper leg away, just enough to allow my fingers access. As I touched myself I had that image of Rhys down at his desk, his huge thick cock in his hand, hunched over himself, head bowed, fist moving hard and fast.
I’d wanted to go to him and take care of things for him. Show him how it should be—soft and slow and gentle. Not rough and hard and almost angry.
I let my mind wander, to a fantasy of being in bed with him. Waking up to a slow warm yellow dawn. Feeling his erection, taking it in my hand. Stroking him. Making him come. Or, maybe taking him inside me. Making love to him. Holding him as I came. I’d come every time with him, and each time would be more incredible than the last. He’d probably be eager to taste me. I fantasized about that, him kneeling between my thighs, his tongue lashing me, tasting me, and that, oh god that made me wild. I had to hold my breath and grit my teeth to keep from crying out, and the very thought of his tongue on my clit was enough to send me reeling over the edge, and I tensed all over, my breath caught in my teeth, the orgasm pounding through me.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this—masturbating with Rhys mere feet away, possibly even watching me. It made me come all the harder, for some reason.
I wondered if he knew. If he was watching.
I dared not look.
I felt the waves crash through me, my finger slipping in quick deft circles, coming and coming, needing to cry out, to gasp, to whimper, and not daring to make