You pour yourself a glass.

A brandy would help, you decide. It's a bit of a man's drink, but to hell with conventions. You down one, spit flames, then pour yourself another. And a third. You really need to get to that shower.

What you're unaware of is that Jake received your message as the bus was pulling over to drop him. You're barely finished gulping down that third glass that he's unlocking the door. You look like a fool: disheveled, covered in half-dried, half-mopped cum, smelling like ****, and stark naked. You don't know how to react, except turn a deep shade of red.

He looks at you, and he doesn't know what to say either.

You can't let the silence grow. It would never leave. And so you say:

"I love you. It was an accident. I love you, Jake."

And then you notice the bulge in his pants. Is it your nakedness? Is it an urge for **** sex, or maybe a primal need to reclaim his woman?

Why is he so hard?