It doesn’t.
I can’t stop imagining dropping to my knees, taking him into my mouth, tasting him, licking him clean.
He’s still half-hard, veins thick, the tip only just softening.
God, he must be sensitive right now. Just touching him would be electric. Part of him—some part—must want more.
I would beg. As humiliating as it is, I would beg him for a taste.
A soft, desperate sound slips from my throat, and his head snaps toward me.
He sees me.
We freeze.
For a second, nothing exists but the two of us. The air goes still. My mind blanks under the heat in his eyes.
The world narrows to breath and tension, something tight pulling between us, drawing me closer, urging me forward.
My foot moves. One step. Then another.
I don’t even know what I’m going to do.
I don’t get the chance to find out.
He turns sharply away with a rough, angry sound.
And just like that, the spell breaks.
Everything rushes back—logic, awareness, humiliation.
Oh God.
I was just standing there watching him. Watching him jerk off in his own shed.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I blurt, spinning around, my cheeks burning.
Only then do I realize I’m still holding the plate of French toast I grabbed from the kitchen.
I brought it for him because I thought he might be hungry, and to thank him for fixing my car. But the second I saw him… doing that… I forgot all about it.
How I didn’t drop it, I have no idea.
Seeing him like that woke something inside me. My thoughts turned filthy fast. Him grabbing me, shoving me over the workbench, taking me from behind like something wild and untamed.
God, I was so turned on. I wanted to climb him like a tree.
But now I’ve made everything worse.
I’ve made it awkward.
Behind me, I hear the sharp sound of a zipper, and panic surges. What do I even say? Do I just leave? Pretend none of this happened? Bury my head in the sand? And what do I do with the plate?
My heart jumps as his footsteps approach. When he stops behind me, I turn slowly, forcing myself to look up.
For once, his expression is wide open. His face is flushed deep red, his eyes dark, his mouth parting like he’s about to say something.
Oh God. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t hear it.