Rubbing my eyes, I trudge across my dark living room in my socks, head to my bedroom, and push open the door. Just need to get these stupid clothes off, then I’ll crash into my pillows.
Don’t even care about my makeup. I’ll wake up with a raccoon face. Whatever.
I pull off my shirt and toss it on the floor as I go to the bed, then I unbutton my jeans, unzipping them too. As another yawn wallops me, I stop at the foot of the mattress, peeling my jeans down, my eyes fluttering closed, when I hear falling water.
I freeze at the sound, my jeans at my ankles, my head flipped over, my hands on the denim I’m removing.
That’s the sound of…the shower.
From this weird upside-down pose, I peer around.
That’s…Carter’s king-size bed.
All at once, everything clicks into place. I fell asleep on his couch. I walked into his bedroom. And I’m feet away from his en suite bathroom.
Where he’s taking a shower.
Because, holy smokes, from this vantage point, with the bathroom door half-open, I can see his naked legs.
Can he see me upside down, wearing my…what the hell panties am I wearing today? Oh, great. The red lace ones. They basically scream I want a side of sex ed with my girlfriend lessons.
I will never live this down after Boob Day.
Not only did I flash him my jugs, I sleepwalked into his bedroom while stripping to nothing.
Real smooth, Rachel.
Carefully, so I don’t faceplant, I pull up my jeans in slow-mo. When they’re at knee level, I lift my face, and…
Whoa.
That’s a hearty eye-full of mostly naked man in the bathroom mirror.
The vanity above his sink is wide enough, big enough, thoughtful enough to offer me a view into the rainfall shower.
I knew Carter was built, but I didn’t know he looked like he could star in an artsy sports magazine photo spread of naked athletes, the kind where you can see strong bodies in motion but no parts. I can’t see anything truly risqué since he’s turned slightly away from the mirror. As I inch up my jeans more, my eyes devour the somewhat chaste shower scene, cataloging the droplets of water caressing his golden skin, his thick thighs, his strong calves, and the side of his ass.
He has a great ass, and I can’t stop staring at it. It’s strong, and firm, and what would it feel like to grip that ass as he fucked me? To wrap my legs around his ass as he drove into me?
That’s it. I’m officially a voyeur. A shower voyeur. I have to stop. You’re not supposed to wander into your friend’s bedroom, peek in the half-open door to the bathroom, and steal glances as he bathes.
Get it together.
I hold my breath as I pull my jeans up the rest of the way, trying not to peek in the mirror.
But once I find the zipper of my jeans, I realize I’m failing. I’m still staring at Carter’s ridiculously sexy reflection.
I’ll just grab my discarded shirt, tug it on in a hot second, then skedaddle. Quietly, I tiptoe a few feet to grab my long-sleeve top, then gasp. I slam my hand to my mouth to swallow the noise.
He’s not just gloriously naked and washing up.
He’s deliciously X-rated and jerking off.
Carter gives his hard cock a long, sturdy tug. I purse my lips tight to vacuum seal up all the lascivious groans building in my chest. With the shirt in my hand, I slink back against the doorframe, my spine to the wall. I’ll just get dressed here and then go home.
Where I will fuck my vibrator for the rest of the night and into the eternity of my dirty thoughts.
But my gaze is still stuck on the scene in the mirror.
That’s a very confident hard-on. Long, thick, and—I can’t believe I’m thinking this because dicks by nature aren’t pretty; they’re funny-looking, dangly things—but Carter’s dick isn’t simply big. It’s beautiful.
It’s hypnotizing me. I’m some kind of cartoon character, caught in a trance.
I want that hand to be my hand so badly.
My head swims. My thighs shake.
I have to snap out of this. Quietly, I stick my left arm into the sleeve. I don’t want to utter a sound. I’ll be dressed in a jiff, then I’ll go before…
Oh fuck. He’s sliding his fist down the head, squeezing it.
I squeeze my thighs, like that’ll ease the exquisite ache in my center. I pull on my shirt and turn around, jeans still unzipped. But once I take a step to go, a long, guttural moan greets my ears. Then, a panting of his breath, that unfurls into a word.
And a revelation.
It’s a word I’ve heard my entire life, and it changes the score.
I can’t move. I can’t leave. I’m lit up. Crackling from that wonderfully familiar, two-syllable name. Over my shoulder, I steal one last peek.
He’s fucking his left hand so ferociously that he slams his right palm against the shower wall.
This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
He’s so turned on, he needs to hold onto the wall as he jerks. His hand flies along his length in a savage blur.
He’s all urgency, all purpose as he strokes, his breath coming fast.
Then, there’s a bitten-off moan and that word once more as he grunts, “Fuck, Rachel. Yes…”
He shudders. Coming in his hand.
To. Me.
While I’ve been trying to quietly get dressed and go, he’s been jerking off to me. The entire time.
My body ignites like a rocket about to launch. I’m buzzing with lust and longing. But when Carter reaches for the faucet, my reason reactivates. Somewhere in the midst of all these hormones, a voice says get the fuck out.
I spin around and race out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind me, then stop in the living room in a panic as the water shuts off in the shower.
Do I stay or go? Grab my things and take off? It’s too late to walk, and I’d need to call a Lyft.
The car wouldn’t arrive for a few minutes. In that time, Carter will probably have pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, then walked out here to say goodbye to me.
If he comes out here, I’ll have to see him when I’m like…this.
With my body vibrating with lust. With my cheeks flush with desire. With my panties soaked. And with the lie on my tongue—oh hey, just woke up, totally didn’t just watch you jerk off to me.
I can’t face him right now. But I can’t leave his home either.
I’m stuck here until he goes to sleep. Then, I can slip out without him seeing how aroused I am.
I dive for the couch, burrow under the thin blanket, and zip my jeans at last. Then I curl around the pillow and get back in position.
I shut my eyes.
But all I can see is the reel of my brand-new fantasy.
Carter’s hand on his cock. Over and over and deliciously over again.
I squirm.
I need to stop squirming.
I’m asleep. I’m asleep. I’m asleep.
A few minutes later, I’m still wide awake but pretending to sleep as the sound of footsteps grows louder. Then closer and inevitably closer.
Can he tell I’m faking it? Does he know I watched him get off? Is it obvious I’m still outrageously turned on?
I’m intensely aware that he’s in the living room, standing by the back of the couch.
A blanket lands softly on my shoulders, then my whole body. He’s covering me with a bigger comforter.
And…it smells like him.