My cock goes hard so fast I feel like someone punched me in the gut, but in the good way.
And that’s before I hear the low, soft, grunt-like that noise she made in the back of her throat when I was pounding into her while we were together in Hawaii.
I break out in a cold sweat, and my dick gets impossibly harder.
She’s doing this on purpose, I tell myself. She knows the walls are thin. This is psychological warfare and we are not engaging there too tonight.
My cock doesn’t get the message. It floods my brain with images of Sabrina, naked, thighs spread, pleasuring herself with a vibrator.
Is it a vibrating dildo? One of those fancy toys that’ll hit her clit and penetrate her at the same time? Or a simple bullet thing?
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Cold sweat?
No.
Full-on chills racing across my entire body while my cock leaks pre-cum and my balls tighten even harder.
I try to stare at the brightly colored puzzle pieces on the desk, but they all blur together.
I can’t see straight.
Not with that vibration coming through the walls.
It gets higher pitched, then lower pitched, then higher pitched.
Like she’s moving it to the exact right spot to—
I shove up off the chair, banging my thigh on the underside of the desk, and stifle a yelp. If I can hear her fucking vibrator, she can hear me.
Need to get out of here.
Desperately need to get away from this noise.
I head into the bathroom, which does not help.
I can still hear her.
I can still hear her making soft noises, and I can still hear her vibrator going, and my dick is getting harder by the minute which should be fucking impossible.
Nope.
Not doing this.
Not letting my body control what goes on here.
The vibration amps up, and she whimpers.
Fuck me.
I lunge for the shower and turn it on cold.
Wrong move.
Wrong, wrong move.
One, I hate the cold.
Two, I’m moving too fast, and one of my fun new lightheaded spells decides to make a reappearance.
And three, I’m still fully dressed.
So now I’m sitting on the floor of the shower, cold water raining down on me and soaking my clothes, pressure easing in my head as the dizziness recedes, but my cock is still hard as iron.
I slam the water off and reach for a towel as Sabrina moans a soft, short moan.
And then I hear something else.
Water.
Spitting.
“God, that feels good,” Sabrina says on the other side of the wall. “Is there anything better than a clean mouth? Your turn for tooth brushies, Jitterbug.”
Fuck.
Me.
Just fuck me.
I have a problem.
And it’s getting bigger by the day.
12
Sabrina
Grey disappears for most of the rest of the week, which is a good thing. The intensity in his expression when he was poking for information about Addison and making it very clear that he remembers every word I told him in Hawaii has me off-balance. And the two-gallon jar brewing a batch of kombucha on the desk is an ever-present reminder that he’s changing things.
Zen says he’s off doing responsible business owner things. The managers from the other two locations seem to think I want to know everything he’s doing, so I’m getting regular communication from both that confirms Zen’s story.
In Elk Knee, it’s simple. The crew had already quit and found new jobs, and the manager is doing the barest obligatory duties to help get the building for sale while working his new job too.
In Tiara Falls though, apparently Grey’s been working to help the soon-to-be-displaced crew there all find new jobs, and he’s providing severance packages for them until they do.
That’s a little above and beyond if you ask me.
Which you didn’t.
And it makes me like-dislike him a little more.
He does so many good things, but here?
Why does he have to change my building?
I can help him find another building in town if he wants to run a kombucha brewery. But the one time I casually mentioned it to Zen, they snorted, muttered good luck with that, and climbed up on a stepstool to tinker around the piles of things on top of the fridge and take inventory of all of this powdered cheese.
“What happened with Grey and Chandler?” I finally ask Zen just before my shift is over on Thursday.
They’re warming up by the day, but I get the blank-faced, you don’t get that answer from me look. “Who says something happened?”
“My gut.”
“Same gut that led to your friend’s wedding disaster?”
“Low blow, Zen. Low blow.”