Page 33 of All In

I glance up at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed as fuck. I sure as hell can’t go back out there like this.

It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. We were so busy with last-minute wedding stuff that it’s been… I don’t know, a month maybe? That makes me frown. That’s tragic, really. Should have known something was up.

Fuck it. It’s fine. I’ll get myself off and go back in there. Maybe then my dick will chill out.

Reaching into my sweats, I pull my cock out, biting down hard on my lip to keep myself from making noise.

For a second, I just stand in place. Am I really about to get myself off to thoughts of Grayson?

I shake my head. No, I’m not. I’m not. I won’t think about him at all.

Trying to clear my mind, I stroke my cock. It feels so good I could weep, and I pull my hand up to spit in my palm. I can’t be in here long, or Gray is gonna know something’s up. Need to hurry this along. Basic biological need and nothing else.

I stroke myself quickly, choking back the whimpers that want to spill from my throat. My stomach muscles flex when I twist the head. Ugh. I really need to hurry the hell up.

Fuck it.

I can worry about the guilt of being the worst friend ever later.

I close my eyes and picture Grayson.

Fingers sinking into my hair and tugging. Full lips under mine. His big hands on my body. My tongue pushing past his lips, tangling with his.

My balls pull tight to my body, and I lean over the sink as I start coming.

I nearly tear a hole in my lip trying to keep myself quiet. My knees go weak, and I stroke myself through it, my cock pulsing against my palm as I drag my orgasm out, and cum lands in thick stripes across the porcelain of the sink.

Guilt sets in as soon as my body comes down, and the reality of what I just did hits me.

I release my lip with a grimace, staring down at the proof with my hand still loosely gripping my softening cock.

Chapter 11

Grayson

It’s official. I’ve ruined my friendship. My marriage? Both? Probably both.

I’m not a hundred percent sure what happened, but I know for sure that I woke up to Harlow jumping out of bed like his ass was on fire and the vague memory of a dream that I should not have been having.

Fuck.

My dick is still aching, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Not with Harlow just behind the closed bathroom door.

I rub my hands over my face. Should I get up and check on him? Probably not. If he needs space away from me, I don’t need to disturb him. The best thing I can do is leave him alone.

And maybe go ahead and pack my stuff and head back home.

He’s been in the bathroom for a long time, and I’m starting to get worried when finally the water turns on and then off, and he’s pushing the door open. I stare up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze, though I can feel it on the side of my face.

Without a word, he slips back into bed with me, curling into my side.

I’m so surprised that for a long while, I just lie stock-still, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace. But when he nuzzles into my chest and rubs his head back and forth, I wrap an arm around him and pull him closer, burying my face in his hair.

My heart gives a dull thud. This is hard and getting harder by the second. There will be no reprieve either. We’ll be on this trip for another few days, and then we’ll be going home together. We’ll have to be around our friends and family. We’ll have to act like we’re married.

I mean, not all the time, of course, but enough that I already know it will hurt.

“Do you feel like I trapped you?” Harlow asks, breaking the silence.