“Why can’t it be for both of us?” I move toward him.
“I’m not worried about me.”
“Maybe I am.” I glance at the bulge behind his straining zipper. “Why would you deny yourself? Let me do something for you too.”
He stands and adjusts himself. “That’s all right. All I wanted was a taste of that sugar glider. It was every bit as sweet as I imagined it would be.”
His eyes flit to the apex of my thighs, and a smile plays on his lips.
I close my legs, hiding his view. “What a crock of shit.”
“Why? Hasn’t a guy ever just wanted to pleasure you? To get you off and enjoy the fact that he can?”
I cross my arms. “Only in my books. Not once in my real life.”
He tips up my chin. “Well, now you have.”
Adam leans in and brushes his lips across mine. He turns and walks out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.
I jump up to go after him, but stop when I open the door and the breeze grazes my coochie.
Shit, not again.
I slam the door before the neighborhood gets a Marilyn Monroe style crotch shot.
Fine. Be that way.
I just needed a little stress release—and I got it.
It’s not like I’m looking for a relationship.
FOUR
Blue balls my ass. Try fucking black balls.
I stand under the icy spray of the shower, waiting for my hard-on to relax. At this rate, it could take hours.
When I woke up in the hospital all those months ago, the doctors painstakingly explained the nature of my injuries. One even used a pad of paper and drew diagrams of my anatomy, as it was and as it is now. Hell, I was thankful I had a dick at all. And that first time I got aroused, I was thrilled it still had full function.
Of course, it only took about six times in the saddle to figure out there was at least some nerve damage.
Damage that could drive a lesser man to drink.
But I’m not a lesser man. I’m strong.
Strong enough to walk away.
I’m man enough to know that if I can’t come, some women think it’s their fault, like they aren’t doing something right, or that I’m not attracted to them or some shit.
I’ll be fucked if I let Kelsey think there’s something wrong with her. She’s beautiful—hot as fuck—and I won’t have her doubt herself. Just because I have a problem, doesn’t mean she should ever think she’s not enough.
No. That’s my burden to bear—alone.
At least I’m here to bear it. Shulls and the other guys are gone, and none of them will ever be with a woman again. Whether or not I can ejaculate is nothing compared to that.
So, the shower it is.
Freezing water. Full blast.
And still, my hard-as-marble erection takes forever to calm the fuck down.
This house was supposed to take six months to get into shape in order to sell it and turn a profit. Flipping houses is a pain in the ass. At least, flipping this one is. Since it’s my first, I really don’t know about any others. Hopefully, they’ll get easier the more I do this. And cheaper.
I grab the pickaxe and make my way around the house to the old shed that needs to be bull-dozed, but it can’t because the houses are too damned close together to get one back here.
The temperature gauge reads hot as fuck, so I pull my shirt off. I grab the hose and turn it on. After the water that’s been heating up in the hose runs out and the cool water flows, I run it over my head.
Spike prances around the yard, running through the stream of water I spray over him. He barks and jumps, biting at the jetting liquid.
“You crazy dog, you can’t catch the water.” I swear he makes me smile every day. Wonder if I could write his feed and vet bills off as mental healthcare costs.
After a few minutes, I twist the nozzle at the end of the hose to shut off the water.
Spike stops and cocks his head to the side as though to say why for you stop the play?
“Sorry, Boy. I need to get back to work.” I turn my cap backward.
A minute later, he nudges my shin with his ball, dropping it on my foot.
“No. It’s not playtime. You go lie in the shade. I’ve got shit to do.”
His brows draw together as his big, brown eyes beg me to throw the ball. His gaze follows my hands as I stretch, holding the pickaxe high in the air. It’s as though he thinks it must be a giant stick I’m going to hurl across the yard for him to chase.
I slip my work gloves on and take position for my first swing at the broken and cracked brick wall that hasn’t actually protected the contents of this shed for several years. A ball pressed to the back of my calf stops me. I shoulder the axe.
“Spike. I don’t want to hit you with this thing. I’m certain it will win if it comes down to the two of you.”