Free Love Restored by Carrie Ann Ryan Page B

architecture—they’d have the place back to its former glory and up to code, with a few modern renovations to make the place inhabitable.
    But the process of getting there was one dirty business.
    He got into the shower and let the hot water slide over his skin, taking the sweat and dirt with it. As he closed his eyes, he leaned one hand on the wall in front of him, lowering his head so the water could get his back. His body ached something fierce, and because he pictured Blake’s face as soon as he closed his eyes, his dick ached, too.
    Knowing he was probably making a mistake, he gripped the base of his cock, squeezing slowly before sliding up and down his length, twisting his wrist slightly to get better traction. He groaned, imagining Blake’s talented hands in place of his own. And her hands were talented. She was a tattoo artist and piercer, her hands were her work, her art, and he couldn’t wait to actually have them on his dick.
    He pumped his hips, fisting himself as he imagined Blake on her knees in front of him, sucking him off, her lips wrapped around his cock and her hands playing with his balls. He played with the piercing at the tip of his dick, tugging just slightly to make his eyes cross. But it wasn’t until he imagined himself eating her cunt, licking up her sweet juices and making her come on his face that he felt his balls tighten and the small of his back tingle. He came hard, his come hitting the wall before sliding down with the shower spray. He groaned, his muscles tense once again even though he’d just come.
    He hadn’t meant to do that, not when he’d have to face her later, and yet, he knew he’d do it again. He couldn’t help himself. And that’s how he knew he was the asshole he’d come off as when he’d first met her.
    Not wanting to get hard again at the thought of her, he quickly soaped up and washed away the grime of the day before turning off the water and getting out. He toweled off, running a hand through his beard. He should probably shave it off, just in case Blake didn’t like it chafing her inner thighs.
    And at that thought, he cursed; his dick hardening once again. He’d just rubbed one off and, apparently, he was right back on the edge once again.
    He kept the beard, got dressed, and went back through the house, cleaning up the mess he’d made in his exhausted walk toward the shower. He wasn’t usually this messy, and actually had the tidiest house of his brothers—other than Owen. But no one could top Owen and his damned label maker.
    How the hell that man was going to find a woman to take him in, he didn’t know.
    Grinning at the thought, he threw his shit in the washing machine, along with whatever else was in his hamper. As soon as he closed the lid, his phone chirped, telling him he had a new text.
    His face broke out into a grin when he saw whom it was from.
    Blake: So, what the hell are we doing?
    He answered back with a grunt.
    Graham: Well, I’d say something about doing each other, but you’d probably get all butthurt.
    Blake: You’re an idiot, but that’s probably why I said yes to seeing you.
    The fact that she’d texted him at all told him she’d been thinking about him. Considering he couldn’t get her out of his mind and had just jerked off at the thought of her, he was glad he wasn’t alone.
    Graham: Wanna come over and eat?
    He paused. Why had he just asked that out of the blue? Did he even have anything to feed her? Between this and the grocery store, he sure as hell wasn’t firing on all cylinders when it came to this woman.
    Blake: Did you really just ask me to see your etchings?
    He snorted.
    Graham: I asked you if you wanted food. If I wanted you to see my etchings, I’d have said come over and ride my dick.
    And why the hell had he said that? This woman brought out the worst…and the best…in him.
    Blake: Not that riding your dick isn’t a decent offer, but I’ll need food first. I’m off tonight, so I can come over for a