21. Is That a Euphemism?

CHAPTER 21

IS THAT A EUPHEMISM?

WESTON

I tell Abbi a funny story involving a four-way room rearrangement that once became necessary just to give two couples some privacy. “There were more bed swaps that night than in a British sexual farce.”

Abbi giggles. She’s lying on a bed, wearing flannel PJs with little bunnies all over them. And I just wish I were there.

“Speaking of hotel beds…” I say, sounding about as subtle as a freight train. “This is a travesty. We’re both in hotels. If it were the same hotel, we could be having hotel sex right now.”

“That would definitely improve my day,” she admits, propping her cheek in her hand. “If anyone is going to stare at my chest, I choose you.”

“ See? That’s why all the lust-filled thoughts I have about you are okay. I’m on the VIP list. You just invited me to stare at your tits.”

“It’s a very short VIP list,” she says with a smile. “With just one name on it.”

“Yeah, I like it that way.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how true they are. Abbi and I are supposed to be just a casual thing. But I feel a little possessive of her, which really isn’t fair. I have nothing to give her for the long term.

And yet, if she met someone new tomorrow—some guy at her new job, who wanted to go the distance—I wouldn’t like it one bit. This school year still has three months left, and I plan to take advantage of every one of them.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Abbi asks suddenly. And I realize I’ve been lost in thought for no good reason.

“Your tits, of course.” It’s not strictly true. But seeing as I think about them with some frequency, it might as well be.

Abbi unbuttons just one button on her PJs, and suddenly I can see the soft swells of her cleavage. “There. Now you and the mortgage banker have the same view.”

My body tightens deliciously. The bathwater has me feeling warm and loose already. “You’re killing me right now. When am I going to see you next—for real?”

“Hard to say,” she says. “I work a double on Sunday.”

“When do you get off?” I ask. By which I mean, when can I get you off? Making Abbi whimper and sigh is my new favorite hobby.

“Eight,” she says. “A double shift on Sunday means you don’t have to close.”

“Come over? We’ll be hanging out at the hockey house, drinking some beers and unwinding.”

“Maybe I can,” she says. “What’s the vibe at the hockey house, anyway? What’s it like?”

“Not as skeevy as you’re probably thinking,” I say and she laughs. “I mean—we have some killer parties. But on a quieter night it’s comfortable. Our alumni landlords make sure the place has a weekly cleaning service and every TV channel under the sun. The kitchen is actually pretty sweet. We’ve got a giant blender that we use all the time, and a big mixer that we never use, but it looks very sophisticated.”

Abbi laughs again. “The things I could do with that mixer.”

“My mixer is your mixer, baby. What do you want to mix?”

“I found a recipe in my mother’s cookbook for this weird cake she used to make for me. I haven’t had it in years…” Her smile fades, and she looks a little wistful.

“Seriously, if you want to putter in my kitchen, you can do that anytime. But come over Sunday either way, okay?” Because I miss you . I don’t say that part out loud. “We’ll be watching tonight’s Bruins game,” I say instead. “We made a pact on the plane to save it until after we get back.”

She blinks. “So I shouldn’t tell you they’re losing four to zip?”

“Wait, really?” I gasp. “ Four to nothing?”

Her smile blooms naughtily. “You’re so gullible , Westie. I really have no idea if the Bruins are playing tonight or not.”

“Abbi!” I laugh, and try not to drop my phone in the tub. “You’re so mean. Maybe you should show me some more tit as a punishment. Two minutes for unsportsmanlike conduct.”

“You want penalty tits?” she asks with a giggle.

“Oh, definitely.”

She reaches up… and buttons the PJs closed instead.

I let out a little moan of frustration.

“Let’s wait,” she says. “Until you can see them in real life. I’m not comfortable flashing you over hotel Wi-Fi.”

“Ah, fine. Fine.” I suppose she’s being smart about that, even if I’m crushed. “Just so you know, I’m not as smart as you are. And I’m not shy. So…” I lift the phone and change the angle. First I reveal my abs, which I’m tightening for the occasion. The six-pack is looking pretty buff onscreen, if I do say so myself.

Abbi makes a small sound of pleasure.

So I keep going. I angle the phone even further, until she can see my erect cock poking mostly out of the bathwater. “Look who says hello.”

“Well, hi there,” she breathes, her lips parted. “Now I really do wish we were at the same hotel.”

“Yeah, well.” I reach down and give myself a slow stroke, and Abbi makes another noise of approval. “You like that? Or am I just being creepy right now?”

She smiles. “You’re not creepy, Weston. Everything you do is sexy. Every. Thing.”

A warmth hits me that has nothing to do with bathwater. “You know I think the same thing about you, right? Everything you do is sexy.”

“No need to exaggerate.”

“Oh, I’m not.” I give myself another slow stroke, because it feels so good. “If you were here, you’d be in this tub with me. I’d insist. ”

“Mmm,” she sighs. “If only.”

My voice goes low and rough just thinking about it. “We’ll put that on our bucket list. Things to do together before we run out of time together.”

“I’m in,” she whispers. “Keep, uh, going. If you want to.”

“You want me to?” My voice is pure gravel. “Put on a show for you?”

“Yes. Does that make me a hypocrite?”

“No,” I insist. “We all have our comfort levels. Mine is set on slutty .”

She laughs. On the screen, she seems to sink a little further back into the pillows. Then she licks her lips. “I admire that. Mine is stuck on cautious .”

“You’ve had to be,” I remind her. But my mind is only half present in this conversation. “Hang on. I need to make a few adjustments.”

It’s just your ordinary Thursday night right here at the Marriott, with me setting up to tug one out in the bathtub on a video call with my fuck buddy. Luckily, the hotel bathtub has a shelf that stretches across it—for your glass of wine, I guess—with a groove across it for your e-reader or whatever. I prop up my phone on the shelf, which frees up my hands.

Then I grab the little body wash bottle and squirt some into my palm. Now my hand is all slicked up, and I run it casually over my chest and my neck, while Abbi lets out a breathy gasp. “If I were there, I’d do that for you,” she whispers.

I feel her gaze like a caress. Enough teasing. I drop my hand to my stiff cock and take myself in a firm, slick grip. I tease the underside with my thumb, and it feels so good I let out a horny groan.

“Whew,” Abbi sighs. “It’s suddenly really hot in here.”

I don’t respond, because I’m watching her flushed face on the screen as she licks her lips. She likes this. A lot. Then I see her slide a hand up under her top.

“Are you…oh hell yes.” She’s touching her breasts under her shirt. I see the form of her hand circling her nipple. And now her eyes are going dark and dreamy .

Damn this is fun. And I love pushing Abbi’s boundaries just a little bit.

A few minutes ago I’d called myself slutty. Except I’ve never done this before. I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and therefore nobody to get freaky on camera with.

I pump myself and realize two things at once. The first is that this isn’t going to take very long. Abbi’s heated gaze is burning me up.

The second is that this only looks slutty. It’s actually just the opposite. You have to trust someone an awful lot to stroke your cock while she watches. You have to trust that she’ll find it hot instead of ridiculous. And that she won’t take screenshots and post them on the Internet.

Abbi would never do that. I know it with perfect confidence. Just like I also know that I haven’t trusted anyone else like that in a long time. I haven’t wanted to. I haven’t seen the point.

But suddenly it’s clear as day that I do trust her, as I tip my head back against the tile and work my slick hand up and down my shaft. Then I drop my free hand down to tug on my balls.

Abbi lets out a little moan when I do that. And I swear the sound is what starts to push me over the edge. “Fuuuuck, honey. Miss you.” My hand pumps away. Release is calling my name.

“Miss you , Weston,” she whispers. “Wish I could show you how much.”

And that’s what gets me off. My balls go tight and then sweet relief finally arrives. She gasps as I come on my chest. My jaw is locked tight as I milk it for all it’s worth.

But then I sag against the porcelain. I feel strangely wrecked. Now I’m just a messy guy in a cooling tub, who wishes he could curl up in a bed with the bright-eyed sweetheart on the screen.

If I wasn’t ridiculous before, I am now, right? This is why they never show you the aftermath in porn. I look red faced and crazy eyed. And I feel almost hung over.

So I reach up and turn off my camera. Then I lift the phone to my ear. “Well, I hope that was better than what’s on TV,” I say casually.

Abbi lets out a hungry moan in my ear. “That was…” She swallows. “Wow. ”

I smile through my unexpected embarrassment. “Sunday night, then?”

“You know it,” she says with a little laugh.

“Eight o’clock,” I whisper.

“Okay,” she agrees. “I might bring the ingredients for a cake.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No. But you like cake, right? I’m not sleeping with some kind of psycho?”

“You know I like cake.” I open the drain on the bathtub. “But I don’t know how much sleeping I’m going to let you do. Bring your toothbrush anyway.”

“I will. Good night, Westie.”

“Good night, Abbster. I’ll dream about you.” That’s another thing I’ve never said before. I’m racking up all the firsts tonight.

We sign off, and I stand up and shower myself off. I feel a little skittish now, and it’s hard to say why. It’s just a little fun with Abbi. No big deal, right?

Right. No big deal.

I turn off the shower and grab a towel. Yup, just an ordinary Thursday night in South Bend. Nothing to see here.