I’m only capable of resisting another five seconds before I unzip my jeans, finally freeing my pulsing erection. I sit down in front of the computer, my fingers hesitating over the keys momentarily before pulling up Instagram and searching Lyssa’s handle—and there she is. So beautiful and bright and young, she makes me feel energized and way too old at the same time. I should be shot for fantasizing about the girl cooing over a puppy in one picture, laughing in another while someone out of frame presents her with a birthday cake, complete with candles.
Nonetheless, I find the picture I’m looking for. The one of her kneeling in the sand at the beach, unpacking sandwiches from a cooler. She’s barely covered in an emerald green thong bikini, her ass cheeks round and spankable. Whoever is taking the picture made her turn her head and laugh, brightening the world around her. She’s a goddamn angel, glowing in the sun.
I’m going to murder whoever touched her.
I’m going to track them down and end them in her honor.
There won’t be a single trace left behind.
I’ll visit her in New York after it’s done, find her in a park some afternoon while she’s studying and tell her she’s safe now…
My head falls back and I grip my dick, yanking on it roughly, base to head.
Christ help me, I’m sick. I’m stroking off to the thought of her looking up at me like I’m her hero. Throwing her arms around my neck and letting me hold her. Letting me rock our bodies together, knowing it’s wrong. Knowing we shouldn’t—
A loud crashing sound above my head freezes my blood.
When I hear a distinctly feminine squeal, my cock is stowed and I’m already halfway to the door, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. Lyssa’s whimpers alert me to which bedroom is hers and I burst inside, ready to strangle whoever scared her with my bare hands. My usual logic has deserted me. All I can think is she’s in danger and I have to save her.
So when I find her huddled naked in the shower—very much alone—I’m extremely relieved, but definitely confused. At least until she points a shaking finger in the direction of the still-running shower nozzle. “Spider. Huge. Huge. Get it, get it, get it. Oh my God. Please.”
Something happens that hasn’t taken place in a long time.
I laugh.
It climbs my rusted throat and cracks like lightning, echoing off the walls of the tiny room. Lyssa’s back snaps straight, her nose in an indignant wrinkle. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
“Sorry.” I hold up my hands and approach the shower, calling on my honor so I won’t ogle her naked. My honor must be out to lunch, though, because my eyes can’t help but catalogue her wet shoulders, shapely thighs—and hell, that sweet, hairless pussy peeking out from between her bent legs. Son of a bitch.
My kingdom for one lick.
Forcing myself to focus on the task at hand—spider removal—I spot the culprit dangling behind the shower head. “Shit, he is pretty big,” I comment, reaching into the shower to turn off the water—which is ice cold.
“I told you. He has at least seventeen eyes.”
I open the shower window, cup my hand around the ugly motherfucker and shoo him out onto the sill, closing the window behind him. “All gone.”
She shivers. “Thank you.”
Hating the fact that she’s cold, I nab the closest towel and wrap her in it, lifting her out of the shower basin. On the way to the bedroom, I count the droplets of water on her eyelashes, study the indent in the center of her bottom lip, and generally pine for this gorgeous girl I should be keeping at arm’s length. It doesn’t help that she’s ogling my bare chest like she wants to touch it, taste it. Doesn’t help when she glances up at me like some kind of hero. I want to be her hero.
Instead of leaving her and going back downstairs—like I know I should—I lean down and press a kiss to her temple, saying gruffly, “You want to tell me why you needed to take a cold shower?”
Her gaze evades mine. “That’s how I like them.”
“Is that right?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“You’re about the worst liar I’ve ever met, sweetness. And I’ve met plenty.”
Her chin drops. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
Reluctantly, I settle Lyssa onto her feet, but we make no move to separate. Her bare toes brush mine, my palms chafe the terry cloth at her hips. “Calling you a bad liar is one of the highest compliments I can give you. Means you’ve got a good heart…” My attention falls to her mouth. “And a tongue that doesn’t like being deceptive.”
“Oh,” she whispers. “I guess I’ll let you get away with it, then.”
I chuckle quietly. Damn she’s cute. “What sort of compliments do boys usually give you?”