Free Mister O by Lauren Blakely Page B

How I could drive her wild with a kiss that didn’t stop, that made her knees weak and her panties damp. One that turned her on so much that she’d break the kiss to lick her way down my chest, to the waistband of my shorts, yanking them off. She’d raise that sexy eyebrow, lick her lips, then get them intimately acquainted with my dick.
    In case there was any question, yes, I’m hard as fuck right now.
    Actually, if we’re going to get technical, I’m pretty sure this is the textbook definition of pitching a tent. My dick aches for attention. I’m so wound up from wanting this girl I can’t have, and this boner isn’t going to fade gently into the night.
    I strip out of my gym clothes and head straight for my shower, turning the water as hot as I can handle. Considering I think even her eyebrows are sexy, I clearly need to get this girl out of my system. An unapologetic, no-holds-barred shower jerk will do the job.
    The power spray setting works best for that. I adjust the mode selector, and water pours down, wetting my hair, sliding down my chest, running over the ink on my arms.
    Since I’m not going to have Harper for real, maybe I won't be so fucking aroused around her all the time if I give her a thorough workout in my mind. She’s been in the shower with me many times, and she gives great head in here. With her banging little body and smart, sexy mouth, she’s played a starring role in a handful of shower jerks during the last few months. Maybe more than a handful. Like ten helping handfuls. Or ten times that.
    But who’s counting when your hand is full?
    Not me, that’s for damn sure.
    As steam fills the bathroom, I wrap my hand around my hard-on in a nice, long, lingering tug.
    I let out a breath.
    A reel of images flashes in front of me, and this is so easy, since I see the world in pictures. The hottest ones snap before my eyes as my fist curls tighter.
    Her crawling across my bed on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but those fuck-me glasses.
    Her unbuttoning her shirt, spreading it open, revealing her luscious tits to me. Tits I’d love to fuck.
    My blood runs hot, and a shudder races through me as that particular picture fights its way to the front of the line. I stroke up and down my shaft as I thrust between those delicious breasts. She’d push the soft flesh together with her hands, creating a warm valley for my dick. Her tongue would dart out, licking the head on each stroke.
    I draw a shaky breath as my hand slides along my length, imagining Harper’s mouth on me instead. Tonight I’d like her on her knees, the red lips that say those dirty things wrapped around my dick while she sucks, licks, and takes me deep.
    I groan, and the sound is swallowed by the relentless pounding of the hot water on the tiles. I stroke harder and faster, desire flaring in my muscles, skating over my skin as I see her in all her naked beauty, pleasuring me. Then, out of nowhere, the images flip.
    I no longer picture her servicing me.
    What gets me off more than anything is the prospect of her coming. The sounds she’d make. The way her lips would part in an O . How her back would arch. Fuck, I’d love nothing more than to get out of the shower, walk into the living room, and find her naked on my couch, legs spread, one hand between them, the other playing with her tits.
    My spine tingles as the image intensifies, grows sharper, and feels more real. The muscles in my legs tighten, and I let the fantasy play out. Hell, do I ever want to discover her masturbating, to walk in on her pleasuring herself when she’s so damn close to the edge.
    She moans and writhes as her fingers fly across her wet pussy, over the delicious rise of her clit. She’s worked up and desperate, clawing for release.
    Her eyes snap open. She doesn’t even have to beg me to finish her off. Those blue eyes, hazy with lust, tell me how much she needs my mouth.
    I slide my hands up her thighs and spread her legs wide. I bury my face in her