How would Bailey of even a few weeks ago have reacted to me telling her she’s mine? A vision snaps into my mind of her squealing happily and jumping into my arms.
Frustration pulses at my temples and I consider taking some of the pills I leave beside her eyeglasses. I probably need food. Hydration. To shift and go for a run. But I’m not leaving tonight, not a chance, so I take the food downstairs and eat it over the sink before I guzzle a bottle of water, then head back up for a shower.
Standing under the hot water, I fist my aching cock. I need release. I’ve been hard for days. My nuts haven’t ever ached like this.
I spot suctioned hooks on the tiled wall withhis and herswashcloths that match those towels. His and hers.
Jason and Bailey. Mr. and Mrs. Jason Creed. Bailey Creed.
I envision her in my bed, feeling warm thinking about how she looks wearing my shirt.
Another image flashes as I choke my cock harder. Her twirling before poking my chest as she told me off at Roxy’s.
I take control of the images and change the narrative – see myself lifting her, her legs circling my waist as our lips fuse together.
How have I never noticed how soft her lips look?
An idea assaults me, so I whip the shower curtain open, zeroing in on her damp clothes hanging on the hooks on the back of the bathroom door.
I rush for them. Sweater. Tank top. Bra. Jeans. No underwear, which was my goal.
This means Bailey Blackwood is in my bed in a pair of undies, no bra, just the fabric of my flannel against her bare skin. That skin is imprinting its scent into my sheets the same way it’s been inking itself through every layer of my skin.
The bra is against my nose while I practically sprint back into the shower, adrenalin and need accelerating so fast and furious in my blood that I nearly wipe out, skating across the puddle I’ve made.
Back under the showerhead, hot water pelting my skin, I wrap the lace around my length while pressing my forehead to the wet tiled wall.
And the head of my cock is immediately weeping as I groan out my need, masturbating on the bra of my mate.
I never did this shit even as a teenager. I’ve never been this deprived, and I’ve also never wanted itthismuch.
I envision her, in my bed, lying on top of the bedspread, on those red rose petals, not a stitch of clothing on, covering her chest with one arm, her hand covering the triangle between her thighswith the other. I get closer and closer to her in my mind, my senses filling with her scent.
“I’ve been saving this for you, Jase. I’m all yours. Only yours. Nobody’s kissed me. Nobody has touched me. Nobody has even seen my body. Because it’s not for them. It’s for you. It’s always, always been for just you. I’ve just waited so long for you to realize it.”
“Bailey,” I rasp out as sensation shunts through my system and I spill my load all over the white lace in my fist.
***
No, definitely not a gentleman.
Absolutely not.
I lie as close to her as I can get without touching her, pulling her scent into my lungs.
She turns over and faces me, sound asleep.
I’m grateful for super-alpha sight right now because despite the darkness, I can count her eyelashes. She’s got a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She has a tiny scar on her chin that I’ve never noticed before. She’s still got that red lipstick on her mouth. Fuck, I can’t wait to taste this mouth.
I pull the blanket down and can see more than a hint of cleavage as the top three buttons of my rust and black striped flannel are undone.
I pull the blanket down some more, and decidefuck it, yanking it off her entirely. She’s on her side, facing me, and my shirt covers her behind, unfortunately, but I’ve got a nice view of her bare legs.
She mutters something unintelligible in her sleep before she shivers and scooches into me just as I flick the covers up so they’ll drop over her.
Her nose is touching my bicep.
She moans and nuzzles my arm, making goosebumps rise everywhere on me, making my cock spring awake again.