Chasing Thunderbird by j. leigh bailey

Author:j. leigh bailey [bailey, j. leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64080-112-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2018-02-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

I COULDN’T do it. I couldn’t fall asleep knowing Ford was in my house, lying on my couch. Crazy questions—complete with my imagination’s show-and-tell contributions—kept my brain on edge. The main question—the one that kept repeating itself over and over again—had to do with pajamas. More specifically, did Ford wear them? He hadn’t brought in a bag of any kind, so he didn’t have any to change into tonight. But did he wear them in general? As for tonight, was he wearing his clothes or did he strip down to a T-shirt and underwear? Or, by the gods of all things sensual and hormonal, was he naked on my couch?

My bedroom was suddenly way too hot. I pushed aside my comforter to let the air in my room cool my flushed skin. I pulled off the long-sleeved T-shirt I’d paired with flannel pants, hoping that would help cool me down. It didn’t. Sweat beaded my forehead and prickled my skin.

I wished Ford snored. Or farted in his sleep. Something to distract me from how very distracting it was to have him in my house in the middle of the night. But no, I lay there, staring at my ceiling, hyperaware of the manly presence in my living room. The possibly naked manly presence in my living room.

Heat blazed through me, and I did my damnedest to not picture him naked. I failed miserably. No idea where the blood that heated my cheeks came from, not when the majority of the life-giving substance had pooled in my crotch, making my hard-on throb.

I flopped to my side, taking a second to flip my pillow so my flushed face could rest on the cooler fabric. I tried to ignore my straining erection, but the damn thing refused to subside. I was never going to get to sleep with that punching out against my flannel sleep pants. Not that I could take care of it. Masturbating while the object of my lust slept down the hall seemed like a bad idea.

I flicked the head of my cock, hoping it would get with the program. The sting did little to help with the situation.

Maybe if I was really quiet? I slid my hand down my stomach, pausing when I hit the elastic waistband of my pajama pants.

I couldn’t.

Could I?

A pulse of heat, like a bomb detonating, blasted through the room. Jesus, had Ford cranked up the temperature? I usually kept the place at a comfortable seventy-one degrees, but by the feel of the things, my house would temp in at a hundred. Maybe more. Maybe the thermostat was malfunctioning?

I groaned, pulling my hand away from my abdomen, and stood. I didn’t turn on the bedside lamp so when I opened my bedroom door, the light wouldn’t disturb Ford. Holding my breath, I edged the door open. I tiptoed to the acid-green glow of the digital thermostat, my hard dick leading the way like the prow of an ancient Viking ship.

According to the display, the temperature was seventy-one degrees.

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