“It’s temporary,” I insist firmly, ignoring the way my face heats at his words.
“I’m not hearing a denial,” he taunts.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, letting out a soft groan. If I just tell him I’m not hard will he let it go? Of course not. Because there’s no way he’d even believe me.
“I guess that proves it then,” he says with immense satisfaction. “I turn you on.”
“You don’t fucking turn me on,” I growl.
“Your giant dick seems to disagree with you. Have you been stroking it the entire time we were texting?”
“Of course not,” I bite back.
“Ah, that’s right. Little boy afraid of his cock.”
“I am not afraid of my cock,” I growl, even as I continue to resist the need to relieve the building pressure in my dick.
“You’re just afraid of what it wants,” he drawls. “You really are a little virgin, aren’t you? You’ve never been turned on by shame and humiliation before, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t. It’s fucking messed up.”
“Well, you love getting all messed up, don’t you, dirty boy?” Jazz taunts. “Are you always such a slob when you jerk off, or did you just feel like getting your clothes all cummy at work yesterday?”
I groan and arch my body off the bed as my dick throbs painfully. “Fuck, how do you even know about that? Do you have cameras in the bathroom or something? Were you watching the whole thing?”
“Well, damn—now you’ve given me an idea,” he says with a soft chuckle.
I don’t even know why I asked the question; of course he’s not going to give me a straight answer.
“How much longer do you think you can hold out before you finally grow some balls and give that massive dick the attention it deserves,” he taunts. “It must be getting pretty painful by now…”
More like excruciating…
“Fuck, just leave me alone, Jazz,” I tell him, horrified when it comes out as a gasping plead.
“Less than a minute, then,” he says with a breath of laughter. “And I’m not going anywhere, dirty boy. I’m going to stay on the line and talk in your ear the whole time you’re rubbing your dick, right up until you come all over yourself like a dirty slut.”
“Jazz…please,” I practically beg. I can’t let him listen. He can’t be on the line when I inevitably come. And he can’t whisper his particular brand of dirty talk in my ear while I’m jerking off. It’ll just confirm his theory that I’m turned on by him; and I can’t let that be true.
“You didn’t have to answer the call,” he points out. “Or the texts. And from what I understand of modern technology, you should be able to end the call from your side.”
Fucking smartass. But it’s not like he’s wrong. I shouldn’t have fucking replied to that first text. And I definitely shouldn’t have answered his call.
“Just press that little red button and I’ll be gone,” Jazz goads. “Like magic.”
I need to hang up. It’s easy.Just end the fucking call, Damon! The button is right there.
“I know you’re not going to do it,” Jazz drawls, and I can visualize the exact smirk he must be wearing right now. “You don’t really want me to go.”
“Of course I fucking want you to go,” I grind out, my embarrassment and confusion and arousal all combining to form a state of utter frustration.
“No. You think it’s what you want. What youshouldwant. But what you really want is to jerk yourself off while a guy half your age listens in and tells you what a dirty fucking slut you are.”
As though some kind of wire inside me is snapping, I feel my resistance crumble and I finally tug my boxer briefs down, exposing my thick, pulsing erection.
I jerk myself as Jazz whispers filthy taunts and insults through the phone, a blanket of shame enveloping me at the way my arousal is skyrocketing with every new humiliating comment or mortifying observation.
I hate this. I fucking hate what my body is doing right now. But, Jesus, it feels fucking incredible. And when I come, the orgasm is more powerful than anything I’ve experienced for a hell of a long time.
