Sharing shane, p.6
Sharing Shane, page 6
“Yes, it is.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s Shane’s bed. He’s supposed to have it. I’m supposed to sleep on the couch.”
She started to turn, and he leaped in front of her with a curse. “It’s not Shane’s bed. They brought an extra one.”
Her face wrinkled up in confusion. “Another one?”
“Yep. Different bed. This one’s yours.”
“Oh.” She blinked at him, her eyes hazy, then nodded. “Okay.”
His sigh of relief was short-lived because instead of walking to the side of the bed and sliding between the sheets some intrepid hotel staffer had turned down, she dropped onto the mattress on all fours and began to crawl towards the pillows. And Shane, tired and horny and at the end of his already short rope, watched.
It was fucking torture.
Her shirt rode up to reveal pink panties, boy-shorts that cut away to reveal the curves of her ass, round and soft and jiggling as she crawled her way up the mattress. When it came to women Shane was mostly a breast man, but that ass could make a convert out of him.
“Jesus Christ,” he ground out and clenched his jaw so hard it throbbed in time with his dick.
“What?” Veronica said and turned to look at him. But of course, she didn’t just turn her head. No, she had to turn her entire body so she faced him on her hands and knees, with the deep v of her T-shirt gaping nearly halfway to the bed to give him a clear look at the breasts that had been haunting him all day.
“Jesus Christ,” he repeated and closed his eyes, praying for willpower. “Will you just get in the bed?”
“Well, I was,” she groused, and the blankets rustled as she moved. “Then you said something, and I said “what?”, because that’s what people do, they say “what?” when someone says something they don’t understand, and I don’t know why you’re getting so snarky.”
His eyes popped open and he frowned at her swaying ass. “Snarky?”
“I gave you the bed and everything,” she muttered, finally reaching the pillows. She wiggled and shifted and scooted around, at turns giving him glimpses of tits and ass and sorely testing his willpower and the stitching in the crotch of his jeans.
“This is supposed to be my vacation,” she continued and yanked the covers up to her chin. “I’m going to relax, and eat food, and forget about my cheating ex-boyfriend with vacation sex.”
“Fucking kill me now,” he muttered at the ceiling, then unable to help himself, dropped his gaze to the bed.
She was curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek, sound asleep and snoring. Again.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered again and turned to walk to the bathroom.
He shut the door firmly behind him before flicking on the light. He lifted his bag to the wide marble countertop, dug out his toiletries, and set them in the shower. He yanked the elastic out of his hair to release the low ponytail, then shucked off his clothes. Leaving them in a pile on the floor—surely this fancy-ass resort would have a laundry service—he stepped over to the toilet and emptied his bladder before getting into the shower.
He turned on all the jets, letting out a groan as the crisscrossing sprays hit him. The water was needle-sharp and pounding, the slight sting almost painful. He made himself stand in it until his skin no longer burned, until the bite turned into a caress, reaching beneath the surface of his skin to his muscles, tight and tense from travel and horniness. He stood until the water pounded all the tension out of them, leaving him limp as an overcooked noodle.
Well. Most of him.
He eyed his penis with resignation. He’d gone between half hard and full hard half a dozen times during the day, with brief moments of respite. At the moment he was mostly hard again, thanks to Veronica’s pink panty-covered ass and soft, swaying breasts, and he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight unless he took care of business.
He started to grab his bottle of plain, serviceable shampoo to facilitate things, then paused. There was a trio of small bottles set on the recessed shelf, their contents a pale pink, and on impulse he picked up the one labeled ‘body wash’. He snapped open the lid and was immediately assailed with the smell of ripe peaches.
“That’ll do,” he decided and squeezed a small dollop into his hand, inhaling the sweet scent. It didn’t have the subtle, musky undertone that it did on her skin, but it was enough. He reached down and stroked his palm over his cock.
Pleasure made him jerk, a groan strangling in his throat. He tightened his grip, dragging his hand from root to tip and back again. He braced a hand on the shower wall, leaning into it as the spray beat down on him and he worked himself in slow, firm strokes with the scent of peaches filling his nostrils and images of Veronica filling his mind.
Soft breasts, round, firm ass. And fuck, those thighs. He wanted to see them spread wide so he could dive face-first into her pussy, then feel them wrapped around his hips as he plunged deep.
He pumped his hips, pushing his dick through his fist, the scent of peaches getting stronger as lather built. His hair hung down to his shoulders, streaming water over his face, down his torso to the fist wrapped around his dick. He closed his eyes as the pleasure spiked, his spine tingling and his muscles tightening, then it burst free in a flood of sensation. A groan ripped from his throat and he opened his eyes, watching his dick jerk in his hand and his come splash against the marble walls while the scent of peaches filled his nose.
He had no idea how long he stood there, letting the water pound at him while he lazily stroked himself, but he was jolted out of his post-orgasmic bliss by a sudden burning in his dick.
“Shit,” he muttered and scrambled for the hand-held shower wand. He’d gotten some soap in his urethra, a just payment for liberties taken, and aimed the shower spray at the head of his penis.
After a moment the burning eased, and with a sigh of relief he picked up his own body wash. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, eliminating any trace of peaches, then shampooed his hair. By the time he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, he was practically asleep on his feet. He brushed his teeth, then tugged on a pair of clean boxers. He picked his dirty clothes off the floor and tucked them on top of his duffle, then picked it up and turned off the light.
When he opened the bathroom door, he picked his way across the room on silent feet, deliberately not looking at the bed or the woman softly snoring in it. He dropped his duffle on one end of the couch and lay down on the other, dragging the sheet Veronica had left behind over himself. He sighed and closed his eyes, then opened them with a curse as the scent of peaches hit his nose.
He rolled over with a groan and resigned himself to a long night.
Four
When he woke up, Veronica was gone.
Shane lay still, listening to the crash of the ocean coming through the open sliding glass door while the early morning breeze danced over his skin. He strained to hear any sound over the rolling waves, but the cottage was silent. He debated going back to sleep—the couch was surprisingly comfortable—but now that he was awake his bladder was demanding attention. He rolled off the sofa with a grunt, holding the sheet to his stomach while he looked around, just in case she was lurking in a corner somewhere.
The living area was empty save for the pot of coffee sitting on the kitchen counter, and the bed was neatly made. Through the open doors to the patio he spotted a pair of flip-flops by the stairs leading down to the beach, and a plain white coffee mug on the short stone wall that separated the patio from the sand.
Satisfied that he was alone, he dropped the sheet and stretched, then padded in his boxers to the bath. He hit the toilet first, wincing when it burned. He hadn’t quite got all the soap out in the shower last night, which just served him right. He finished up and washed his hands, and was walking back into the living area when the doorbell rang.
He frowned. He had no idea what time it was since his pocket watch and phone were still in the jeans he’d shucked off last night—he made a mental note to make sure to pull them out before he sent his clothes to the laundry—and he didn’t see a clock anywhere, not even a digital readout on the microwave. He started to turn to the living room to get his watch when the bell rang again.
He glanced down at himself. He was naked but for the boxers, and would normally at least pull on a pair of pants before opening the door. But the bell rang a third time, and this time it sounded as though whoever was out there was holding down the button. With a scowl, he strode toward the door and flung it open. “What?”
Wyatt stood on the front step, his blond hair in casual disarray, his lean body clad in a colorful T-shirt and board shorts, his white, winter-pale skin already showing a hint of a tan. His lips quirked at Shane’s greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry. Hey.” Shane ran a hand through his hair and struggled to wake up. “What are you doing here?”
“You missed breakfast,” Wyatt informed him and stepped over the threshold.
Shane automatically closed the door behind him, a frown on his face. “I did? What time is it?”
Wyatt walked past Shane into the living area. “Eleven-thirty.”
“Shit.” Shane winced. “Sorry. I overslept.”
“No big,” Wyatt said absently turning slowly in a circle to take in his surroundings. “Nice digs, babe.”
Shane scrubbed his palms over his face and tried to wake up. “I guess.”
“No, seriously. We’re in a room at the hotel, and it’s nice, but this is great. Spacious, comfortable.” He noticed the pillow and tangled sheet on the sofa and turned to Shane with a raised brow. “Who slept on the couch?”
“I did. Only one bed.”
“Really?” A delighted grin lit Wyatt’s pretty, tanned face, and he waggled his brows. “Maybe you two should share.”
Shane rolled his eyes and went to hunt up a glass of water. “Give me a break, Wy.”
“It’s a big bed,” Wyatt mused, climbing the steps to the platform. “Plenty of room for two.”
“You should see the shower,” Shane told him, and let out a grunt of satisfaction when he opened the refrigerator and found several bottles of water stocked there.
“Yeah?” Wyatt crossed the room to poke his head in, then popped back out with wide eyes. “Holy crap. You could have an orgy in there.”
Shane cracked open a bottle of water. “You want?”
Wyatt walked back toward the kitchen, shaking his head. “I’d love some coffee, though. I assume Veronica made it since you never touch the stuff. Do you think she’d mind?”
“Doubt it. Don’t know where the cups are, though.”
“I’ll find one.” Wyatt began opening cupboard doors. “What’s she like?”
Shane shrugged. “Seems nice. A little tense. She thinks I’m a jerk.”
Wyatt pulled down one of the sturdy white ceramic mugs. “Were you a jerk?”
“Probably.”
Wyatt poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned back against the counter. “What were you a jerk about?”
“I wouldn’t let her sleep on the couch.”
“That’s a pretty low threshold for jerk,” Wyatt observed.
Shane huffed out a breath. “Yeah, well. I may have been grumpy about it.”
Wyatt’s eyes widened in exaggerated disbelief. “You? No!”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe later, lover,” Wyatt said with an exaggerated leer, and Shane choked back a laugh. “For now, I want to hear about Veronica.”
“Why?”
“Because you like her.”
Shane snorted. “And you’ve deduced this how, Sherlock?”
“You’re always grumpy to people you like,” Wyatt said. “It’s your defense mechanism. Remember when we met, and you told me to get the fuck out of your way?”
“You were in my way,” Shane reminded him.
“You could’ve just said ‘excuse me’,” Wyatt pointed out, “but you wanted me, so you got all flustered and asshole-ish.”
“I did not get all flustered,” Shane protested, “and asshole-ish is not a word.”
“Flustered and asshole-ish,” Wyatt went on, ignoring Shane’s snort. “It’s like all the blood in your brain moves to your dick and you forget how to act like a human being.”
Shane opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again.
“Oh yeah, you want her.” Wyatt grinned over his coffee. “I bet it’s the tits. From what I could see from the pics on her Instagram, she’s got nice ones.”
“She’s a person, you know,” Shane pointed out, annoyed that Wyatt was pinning him down so neatly before he’d even had breakfast. “Not a random collection of body parts.”
“She’s a person with nice tits,” Wyatt said, undeterred. “Did you jerk off thinking about her last night?”
Shane sighed. “God, you’re annoying.”
“I bet you did it in the shower,” Wyatt went on, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “A nice, steamy shower with the water beating down, and you took that big, fat dick in hand and stroked one out thinking about Veronica’s tits.”
Shane gave up. “And her ass. Got a glimpse of that last night.”
Wyatt hooted out a laugh. “How’d you manage that?”
Shane thought of Veronica crawling her way up the mattress, her round ass swaying in those pink panties. “Long story.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me something about her besides the tits and ass.”
“She smells like peaches,” Shane said before he could stop himself.
“Peaches?”
“It’s her body wash, and maybe her lotion. But yeah, peaches.” Shane dragged a hand through his hair and shot his lover a sheepish grin. “I jerked off with her body wash last night.”
Wyatt’s mouth dropped open, and for a brief moment, Shane had the rare satisfaction of having rendered him speechless.
“You fucking pervert,” Wyatt finally said gleefully.
“I know. Paid for it, though.”
“Soap in your urethra?” Wyatt guessed and laughed. “Serves you right.”
“I know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m never going to last a week in this cottage with her, Wyatt.”
“Yeah, she’ll probably notice when she runs out of body wash.”
Shane scowled. “Blow me.”
Wyatt laughed and set his coffee on the counter. “We can do that later, too. Though since we’re inside where none of Seth’s stuffy lawyer colleagues might stumble across us...”
He reached out, grabbed the waistband of Shane’s boxers, and yanked.
Shane grunted as his body collided with Wyatt’s, muscle against muscle. He grunted again when Wyatt’s arms wrapped around him, hands clamping onto his ass. “Don’t start something you won’t be able to finish,” he warned.
Wyatt flicked his tongue out, wetting his lips, his pretty blue eyes going dark. “I’m not starting anything. I just want a kiss.”
“You want a kiss?” Shane asked roughly and speared his hands through Wyatt’s hair. The faint whimper had Shane’s lips peeling back in a feral grin. He bent his head slightly to drag his tongue over Wyatt’s lower lip. “Ask nicely.”
Wyatt’s breath shuddered out. “I want a kiss, please.”
“Good boy,” Shane whispered and slanted his mouth over Wyatt’s.
Shane drove his tongue into Wyatt’s mouth, taking the kiss deep. They were both breathing hard when he pulled back to nip at his lower lip. “Dammit. You taste like coffee.”
Wyatt’s laughter vibrated between them. “Sorry.”
Shane rested his forehead against Wyatt’s, his lips quirked up in a faint grin. “And you got me hard again.”
“I know.” Wyatt pushed his hips forward, grinding against the erection that wasn’t at all contained by Shane’s boxers. An impish grin lit his face. “Want to step into the shower and take care of that?”
Shane laughed, then a flash of movement caught his attention. He picked his head up, and Veronica froze in the opening of the sliding glass door.
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I’m interrupting.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shane began, then he noticed what she was wearing and his brain shut down.
Bikini. Red bikini, bright against her white skin. Low on the hips and skimpy on the tits and wet so it clung to her like paint, and fuck, he was so screwed.
“Damn,” Wyatt muttered under his breath.
See? Shane wanted to say. See what I’m dealing with here?
“It’s fine,” he managed and stepped to the side so his lower half would be hidden by the kitchen island.
Wyatt shot him an exasperated look before turning to face Veronica. “You must be Veronica,” he said with a smile, leaning on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Wyatt.”
“Oh!” She took a step forward, a tentative smile curving her lips. “It’s nice to meet you. Delia talks about you a lot.”
“All good, I assume,” Wyatt said, pouring on the charm.
Veronica laughed, lifting the towel in her hand to her dripping hair. “It’s Delia, so no guarantees.”
“Fair point,” Wyatt agreed. “Listen, I was just about to convince Shane to order some lunch. Want to join us?”
Her hands stilled, and her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“No intrusion,” Wyatt told her cheerfully. “If you don’t mind me invading your space, we can eat on the patio and enjoy the sunshine.”
“That sounds great, if you’re sure I’m not imposing.” Her gaze darted to Shane, who did his best to look like someone who a) genuinely wanted her to join them for lunch, and b) wasn’t trying to hide an erection behind the kitchen counter.
“You should eat,” he told her.
“Ignore him,” Wyatt advised, shooting a what the fuck, dude? look over his shoulder at Shane. “He’s grumpy when he’s hungry.”
“Is he hungry all the time?” Veronica wanted to know, and Wyatt laughed.
Shane managed a small smile. “Really. You should join us.”
Veronica hesitated a moment, her hazel eyes searching his face for Shane didn’t know what, but she finally nodded. “Okay. Do you mind if I take a quick shower first? I want to wash off the saltwater.”
