Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
After he placed his head under the spray to rinse himself off, he glanced back at Emerson, and his gaze was filled with a tenderness that made Rhys’s heart lodge in his throat. The front of his shirt was damp, and he was trembling—from the cold, or who knew what else. “You’re getting all wet.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just change,” he replied, as if snapping out of a trance. “Are you done, or do you want to stay in longer?”
It was tempting to stand under the spray for another minute but wasn’t fair to Emerson. “I’m all set.”
Emerson twisted off the faucet and reached for the towel. After running it over Rhys’s hair, then down his arms, he pulled it around his back and wrapped him up in it. Rhys could feel his heavy breaths against his cheek, and when their gazes met, he saw such a bright spark of fondness in Emerson’s eyes, it made his skin prickle. Fuck, what in the hell was that about?
He stepped carefully out of the tub, and Emerson led him to his bedroom, where he dug through Rhys’s bag to pull some clean underwear out. Rhys sat on the bed, and Emerson helped him pull the briefs up his hips. He could tell Emerson was trying like hell not to stare at his cock, which was standing at attention, apparently having a mind all its own, though not making a bit of sense.
“Fuck, sorry.” He dipped his head as his cheeks heated. “Well, at least I know my dick still works.”
“No worries,” Emerson said in a rough voice. “Probably just a natural reaction.”
Okay, that sudden, all-encompassing tension between them was there again and absolutely killing him. But so was his body. His ribs were screaming, so he lay back in bed and panted as if he’d run a marathon.
“I’m, uh, just going to finish unloading the dishwasher. Holler if you need me.” As Emerson took a step back, Rhys wanted to ask him to stay, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why—other than he seemed to crave his closeness. “Night.”
“Night,” he murmured and shut his eyes.
Goddamn it, he was hard as fucking steel. But even the thought of exerting himself to rub one out made him recoil. It would just have to wait.
14
Emerson
Damn, the sight of Rhys’s lean body. Sure, he’d seen him naked as a teen when they’d change in a rush to go swimming or into pajamas or whatever. But adult Rhys, with that patch of wiry hair at his groin, his perfectly round ass, and that muscly back, most likely from all that hiking and climbing, was something to behold.
He couldn’t believe he was thinking such things about a man, let alone about his best friend. Holy shit.
And Rhys’s very nice cock had plumped up a little in the shower and then a lot on the bed—when Emerson was trying so freaking hard not to notice. But logically he knew it was just a physical reaction. What else could it be? Rhys certainly didn’t remember their kiss, and had never been attracted to him before that night at the bar when things seemed to change between them. Right? All those details had been swiped from Rhys’s memory, and it still felt like a gut punch.
Almost like a death all its own.
He was rattled as he left Rhys’s room, checked on his siblings, then went to his own room to rub one out. Christ, it had been so long since anyone had touched him. Not that he wanted sex all that often, but he was, for sure, wildly attracted to Rhys and didn’t know how to fucking stop.
As he stroked himself into oblivion, he imagined what might’ve happened after that kiss. That was all he had to go on, and it would have to do. He hoped the memory of Rhys’s lips moving against his wouldn’t fade, but at the same time he hoped it did.
Pure torture.
He fell back against his pillow with a low groan, his limbs weak, his pulse pounding, his come cooling on his stomach. He’d get over this. He’d been through much worse.
That weekend Rhys took him up on his offer to go for a drive.
“Are we still on?” he asked around a mouthful of pancakes, which was the one meal Emerson could master without much effort. He remembered his mom would add vanilla and cinnamon to the batter, and his siblings said they tasted almost as good, so that was something to preen about where they were concerned. Rhys seemed to be enjoying them as well, slathering more syrup on his stack. “I’d like to return to the place of my accident.”
Emerson tensed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
He remembered the doctor telling them to let Rhys lead the way, but not to overwhelm him with information.