My lips part, and my breathing grows heavy as I listen.
I should leave. My feet even shuffle for a moment as I prepare myself to run away and pretend this never happened. But then he does it again, this time with a hint of a whimper.
Instead of running, I let my eyes close and press my forehead to the wood of the doorframe, letting the sound of this gorgeous man pleasuring himself fill my ears and imagination. I can’t seehim, so I have to conjure up the image in my mind. I picture him naked on his bed, sweat dripping from the pale skin of his chest and abs. I can practically see his cock in my mind, strangled by his fist, as he pumps himself vigorously. His back is arched off the bed, and his head is thrown back in elation, his eyes closed and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth.
My own cock reacts to the filthy fantasy, growing thick with desire.
This is so wrong of me. I’m terrible for this. Invading my friend’s privacy to lust after him without his knowledge or consent.
What is wrong with me?
His groans peak, stuttering as he reaches his climax. The sound is breathtaking. I’ve committed it to memory already, the sound and the fantasy.
It takes everything in me not to palm my own erection. Instead, I find myself leaning into the doorframe, subtly squeezing my cock between my body and the hardwood. The pain heightens the pleasure while also serving as a form of punishment for invading his privacy.
Once he’s finished, the room grows quiet. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t want to be caught standing here, so I turn from the door and make my way quickly down the hallway toward the exit. I make it all the way to the door before I hear his call.
“Hey, Shakespeare!”
Spinning on my heels, I turn back toward Declan, feeling flush in the face and still sporting a thick erection in my pants, which I hide with one of my textbooks.
“You done with your exams already?” he asks.
I clear my throat and shuffle my feet like I don’t know how to behave anymore. “Uh…yes, I am.”
As he reaches me at the end of the hall, there’s an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips and a charming grin on his face. There’s no evidence that he just orgasmed moments ago, and he doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed about it.
Me, on the other hand, I’m a wreck.
“Cheers, mate,” he says, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get pissed then. It’s our last night together before the holiday.”
“Y-yeah,” I stutter, following his lead.
Even as we stand in the brick courtyard alone and he puffs on the cigarette, I can’t get the sound of his pleasure out of my head. As divine as it was, I’m so mad at myself for listening in. It’s gotten into my head. Changed everything.
Hearing Declan stroke himself has altered the chemistry in my brain, and I’m afraid I’ll never be able to right it again. I’m quite sure the lust is written all over my face.
“You won’t have any chance to get away this summer?” he asks, leaning against the brick wall with one hand in his pocket. It takes everything in me to keep from staring at him longingly.
“Not likely,” I reply, keeping my gaze down. “My mother likes to keep me close when I’m home from school.”
“And what about your dad?” he asks.
I shrug, kicking a pebble across the cobblestones. “He doesn’t come around much. Not anymore.”
“But they’re still married?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
Even as much as Declan and I have spoken this term, I’ve never once explained to him how my father doesn’t come around our family much and why. Truth be told, I’m a bit embarrassed by it, so I’ve kept the dirty details of it to myself.
“Well, it’s just three months,” he says, clapping his hand on my shoulder. I stiffen under his touch, remembering where that hand of his has just been and begging my cock not to react to that. He gives me a jovial shake as if trying to release me from my melancholy.
I think he can tell how downhearted I am about the long season away from school. Away from him. I feel pathetic for it.
Is he as sad as I am? Will he miss me? Or am I just anotheruni mate to him? He’s probably going home to a load of friends and a booming social life.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Just three months.”
