This is fucked. I shouldnotbe doing this. I shouldn't.
I should be thinking about literally anyone else. Literally.
Anyone. Not Gio. Please, not Gio.
My hand curls around my dick and I gasp before I can stop it. God, it feels good. Too good.
It's not fair how good it feels when I think about him.
Why does he look like that?
Why does he move like that?
Why do I know what his back looks like when he stretches after a long ride?
Why do I remember it? In detail.
God. I'm disgusting. I hate this. I hate him.
I stroke myself, again and again and again. I roll my hips into my palm and choke on my own breath.
And it's not even something cute. Like holding hands.
No.
I imagine him spitting in my mouth.
I imagine him biting my collarbone.
I imagine him saying "you like that, don't you?" because that's something he would definitely say.
This is so wrong. I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't crave this. I shouldn't need this.
But I do. God help me, I do. I clench my teeth.
And the worst part is? It's the best I've felt in days.
It's almost here. This is actually happening. I'm gonna cum because of him.
I feel sick. I feel amazing.
I wanna cry and jerk off at the same time.
This is hell. Literal, actual hell. And he'd laugh if he knew. He'd fucking laugh.
He'd say something like, "Told you. Closet cases always hate me the most."
And he'd be right. Fuck.
No.
I need a lobotomy.
I need to never see that asshole again.
I want him gone. But I also want him. And I'm not ready for what that means.
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