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Chapter 92

Yes, his eyes must be blue, Rory decides, because the light reflecting from the pool and the tiles and those tight-ass briefs made them look an impossible shade. He remembers now. He couldn’t look at them directly even if he wanted to.

Which he doesn’t. Because nothing about Chase appeals to him, remember?

His hand fists his dick harder, squeezing, kneading, pulling. He thrusts into his palm, his other hand flat against the wall of the shower, his forehead resting on his wrist as he gasps beneath the hot water. His voice is guttural beneath the flow. “Yes, uh-uh-uh, yes, yes, God, yes.”

He isn’t thinking of Chase, he won’t let himself, so he pretends it isn’t those blue eyes he sees behind his when he comes in a quick rush, his seed mingling with the sudsy water to swirl away down the drain. If he never sees the guy again, it’ll be too soon.

Still, his knees are weak and his breath shallow as he soaps up a washcloth to rinse the chlorine and sweat and semen off his body.