leaking out of him.
He pushes my hip down, rolling me onto my back, jamming me against the wall. The arm under my head pulls tight against the cuff holding it, reminding me I’m locked to the bed. I moan and push my hips up as he drags down the waistband of my underwear. My cock pops free, fresh air a shock over the heat of newly exposed skin.
His mouth finds mine, his tongue pushing in. I groan around it, clutching his dick. Already the inevitable’s on its way. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath, and I push my face into the crook of his neck. The orgasm’s rising from the bottoms of my feet, pulling the ocean behind it. I clench my trapped hand and pull until the leather bites my wrist. The feeling wells like a tsunami. My other hand is still moving—faster and faster—but it’s a dislocated feeling, like jerking myself off, but the rhythm’s off from what my cock is feeling. It’s strange and off-kilter and amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like this. My cheek scrapes his jaw as I tip my head back, the scratchiness of stubble a prickling heat, like the licking of flames. My breath catches, and everything goes white as release breaks through me.
When I come to myself, I’m panting in his ear with his jaw pressed hard against mine, his hand still clutching my cock. My hand is still moving, somehow, and I tighten my grip and focus on it, his shaft rigid and hot in my grip.
He moves his hand to my leg, gripping. His hips push and pull, matching my rhythm, quickening into jerks, and his breath comes in jerks too. Heat catches in my hand, spilling between my fingers. He keeps pumping, clutching my side, sliding through the slick wetness.
He slows and finally drops back on the mattress, his hand cupping my jaw.
“Well.” He’s out of breath. “That was unexpected,” he says. The rasp at the edge of his voice is more pronounced.
“You’re telling me.” Unexpected that he was up for it. Unexpected that I made a move to begin with. The collar of his shirt tickles my nose. I move my head back.
He pushes up on an arm. “Hope I can find that key. I’d ask you to help, but you threw it all the way over there.”
“Whoops. Hand me that towel?” The one from my shower hangs over the top of my locker door. I stretch my free hand in that direction, my fingers already turning sticky. My own jizz cools on my stomach. I’m going to need another shower.
He drops the towel over my arm. One-handed, cleanup is awkward, but I clutch the towel and give it my best while Derek tucks himself in, then crouches to feel around on the floor for the key. All the lamps are pointed in my direction. He’s crawling around in the shadows.
“Got it,” he says, rising.
I scoot down the bed so he can get to the cuff, and I look at his shoulders while he does it. At the line of his back. I clutch the towel in my hand and marvel over the fact that we’ve just done what we’ve done.
“Sorry about the mess,” he says when my wrist is free and I have two hands to clean up with.
“Sorry about the unexpected interruption of the photo shoot.”
“Oh, hey, no problem.”
“I hope you got some good pictures.”
“I think I did.”
“You gonna go list them?”
“Might as well, after all this work.” He flashes a smile.
“I’m gonna go shower,” I say.
It feels strange, walking to the shower with a clean towel and my chill pants bundled under my arm. I don’t feel different—yet I do. My body’s the same, yet as I run soap over it, it feels like unfamiliar territory.
I can still feel the scrape of his stubble on my face.
The grip of his fingers around my cock.
Back in the room, I pull a T-shirt over my still-damp skin before balling up the dirty towel and stuffing it in the laundry basket.
“Done,” he says from his side of the room.
I walk around the locker and look at him sitting on his bed, his back against my locker, his legs stretched out.
I just slept with this guy.
I say, “Let me
He pushes my hip down, rolling me onto my back, jamming me against the wall. The arm under my head pulls tight against the cuff holding it, reminding me I’m locked to the bed. I moan and push my hips up as he drags down the waistband of my underwear. My cock pops free, fresh air a shock over the heat of newly exposed skin.
His mouth finds mine, his tongue pushing in. I groan around it, clutching his dick. Already the inevitable’s on its way. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath, and I push my face into the crook of his neck. The orgasm’s rising from the bottoms of my feet, pulling the ocean behind it. I clench my trapped hand and pull until the leather bites my wrist. The feeling wells like a tsunami. My other hand is still moving—faster and faster—but it’s a dislocated feeling, like jerking myself off, but the rhythm’s off from what my cock is feeling. It’s strange and off-kilter and amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like this. My cheek scrapes his jaw as I tip my head back, the scratchiness of stubble a prickling heat, like the licking of flames. My breath catches, and everything goes white as release breaks through me.
When I come to myself, I’m panting in his ear with his jaw pressed hard against mine, his hand still clutching my cock. My hand is still moving, somehow, and I tighten my grip and focus on it, his shaft rigid and hot in my grip.
He moves his hand to my leg, gripping. His hips push and pull, matching my rhythm, quickening into jerks, and his breath comes in jerks too. Heat catches in my hand, spilling between my fingers. He keeps pumping, clutching my side, sliding through the slick wetness.
He slows and finally drops back on the mattress, his hand cupping my jaw.
“Well.” He’s out of breath. “That was unexpected,” he says. The rasp at the edge of his voice is more pronounced.
“You’re telling me.” Unexpected that he was up for it. Unexpected that I made a move to begin with. The collar of his shirt tickles my nose. I move my head back.
He pushes up on an arm. “Hope I can find that key. I’d ask you to help, but you threw it all the way over there.”
“Whoops. Hand me that towel?” The one from my shower hangs over the top of my locker door. I stretch my free hand in that direction, my fingers already turning sticky. My own jizz cools on my stomach. I’m going to need another shower.
He drops the towel over my arm. One-handed, cleanup is awkward, but I clutch the towel and give it my best while Derek tucks himself in, then crouches to feel around on the floor for the key. All the lamps are pointed in my direction. He’s crawling around in the shadows.
“Got it,” he says, rising.
I scoot down the bed so he can get to the cuff, and I look at his shoulders while he does it. At the line of his back. I clutch the towel in my hand and marvel over the fact that we’ve just done what we’ve done.
“Sorry about the mess,” he says when my wrist is free and I have two hands to clean up with.
“Sorry about the unexpected interruption of the photo shoot.”
“Oh, hey, no problem.”
“I hope you got some good pictures.”
“I think I did.”
“You gonna go list them?”
“Might as well, after all this work.” He flashes a smile.
“I’m gonna go shower,” I say.
It feels strange, walking to the shower with a clean towel and my chill pants bundled under my arm. I don’t feel different—yet I do. My body’s the same, yet as I run soap over it, it feels like unfamiliar territory.
I can still feel the scrape of his stubble on my face.
The grip of his fingers around my cock.
Back in the room, I pull a T-shirt over my still-damp skin before balling up the dirty towel and stuffing it in the laundry basket.
“Done,” he says from his side of the room.
I walk around the locker and look at him sitting on his bed, his back against my locker, his legs stretched out.
I just slept with this guy.
I say, “Let me
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