“Was it the dancing?” she asks huskily, like she’s conducting a scientific study.
The cock in my hand grows harder than ever, and I’m leaking so much pre-come I don’t even need lube.
“It’s you, baby,” I tell her. “It’s all you. Your tight body rubbing up against mine. The smell of the honey of your hair. Your sweet lips pressing against my chest when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. All you.”
“I should leave,” she says, but makes no move in the direction of the bedroom. If anything, I swear she opens the bathroom door even more.
I slow my strokes down to a snail’s pace, squeezing hard at the base so I don’t blow. “Only if you want to.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammers out. Her eyes glue to my dick.
“Are you?” She’s not even a little sorry. She’s intrigued as all hell. I want to grab her arm and pull her against me, but I know touching her while I’m in this condition is asking for it.
“Kind of but…obviously I’m not leaving.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Her embarrassment at enjoying this is too fucking much, but my laughter doesn’t kill off a gram of my arousal. As long as she’s standing there enjoying the show, my body is primed for her. “You don’t have to leave. This is all for you.”
11 Ellie
His voice is a low, husky sound that plucks at the already sensitive nerves under my skin. A small sliver of his chiseled abdomen is on display where his T-shirt rucks up. A sparse trail of dark hair arrows down to a shadowed space covered half by his hand and half by his pants. His hand pulls at his dick in hard, swift jerks, and I know in the space a heartbeat two things: I get why it’s called jacking it, and I’m not leaving unless the entire Warriors football team comes up and drags me away.
The most illicit, hot porn scene I have ever laid eyes on is taking place in full HD color in front of me. If the house went up in flames at this precise moment, I’d burn down with it because I can’t tear my gaze away.
The round, red head of his dick plays peek-a-boo with each twist of his wrist. I notice that he pauses right before he hits the top, almost flicking the ridged area of his circumcised head with a large finger, and that he drags his hand downward with more force that I’d think would feel pleasurable. Not for the first time, I’m struck by how very large he is.
Huge is not at all an overstatement. His fist is big, but it doesn’t completely cover his shaft. I clench my legs together, part in fear and part in arousal. Sweet baby Jesus, Tumblr did not prepare me for this.
“How does it feel?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Good. Real good. Better since you arrived.” His wrist flicks again in steady, even motions. The muscles in his forearms ripple with every down stroke and bunch together at the upstroke. He looks so beautiful and profane at the same time.
I struggled to gulp one breath after the other. There’s no air in this bathroom. It’s sucked up by Masters’ presence. I let out a shaky stream of air.
Masters groans and I feel it. The sound is like a touch, winding its way across my body and then under my skin.
“What are you thinking about?” I’m so screwed.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You. I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about laying my tongue on your body for the first time. What you’d taste like. I’d want to lick you everywhere. I want to know what every inch of you tastes like.”
I must have whimpered because Masters lets out another low, rough noise. “You turned on, baby?”
I press my lips together, but can’t stop my head from nodding. If he touches me, he’ll know how aroused I am. My skin burns. My panties are wet. I’ve never felt so turned on and he hasn’t even laid a finger on me.
“I’m glad.” His voice sounds full of aching want. “I’m so close, baby. Help me. How would you want me to take care of you?”
“I…I don’t know,” I stutter out because this is completely new territory for me. I’ve never watched anyone touch themselves, at least not in real life. I’ve never heard anyone, ever, ask how they could take care of me. The sad truth is I don’t have much experience with what feels good either.
The guys I’ve slept with—all three of them—have been entirely forgettable. I can barely conjure the face of the guy I slept with the summer before I went to college. My junior college hookup was a guy I worked with in Alumni and Development.
“Nothing? You have no requests?” His motion has slowed again, the fierceness in his face lessening, which means he’s not as tuned into this moment.
A fierce yearning grips me. I want him to come. I feel ownership over his orgasm, as if I watch this then I can own him, and in that moment, I’d do anything to stoke his fire. There’s an honesty in his voice, the clear way he looks at me with need that I have never seen before, that loosens my lips and words that I have never spoken spill out of me.
“I know what I’d like to do to you,” I begin.
A small smile appears at the corners of his mouth. “That’s good. Tell me.”
“I’m not sure if I could take much in. You’re…big.” That’s an understatement, like saying he’s good at football. “I’d have to use my hands. I hear the tip is very sensitive.”
He nods. “Yeah. Right under here.”
His finger flicks that spot under the ruddy head of his dick. It’s so red it almost looks painful. His body quakes as he roughly jerks his hand up and down his shaft. I want to rush over and push his hands aside. Let me. I can do this really well.