“Mm.” I writhe into my own touch, trembling from the shock of stopping so close.
“Cup them.” I do. “Nice and firm. Hold both of them in one hand. Are you doing it?”
“Yeah,” I sound like someone I don’t know.
“Tug them.”
“Huh?”
“Now! Do it now.”
I do as he says, making a very, very undignified sound as I do it. I hear him laughing through the wall. He sounds happy. Even though I’ve never been more confused in my life, and the whole situation is next level bizarre, hearing him happy makes me happy, too.
“Start stroking your dick again.” My hand moves of its own volition. Up and down. Frenzied. My mind is empty. Nothing exists except my dick. My hand. His voice.
My orgasm digs its claws into my flesh, sinking sharp talons into my bones.
“D’you want it?” he croons.
“Yes!” It’s a desperate, anguished cry.
If my brain was working, I think I might feel panicked. True, deep panic that he’s going to tell me to stop again. Panic because no matter how much I want or need it, I know deep in my soul that if he tells me to, I’ll stop. Even if it kills me.
Guess it’s a blessing I’m brainless.
“Take it,” he hisses.
Everything clenches. My abs, my jaw, my spine. My orgasm jets out of me like a pressure washer turned on at full blast. Hot semen splashes my neck and chest. Pleasure hits again and again. I feel it under my skin. Under muscle and bone. It reaches inside me and shakes my core. My heart clatters loudly in my chest as I come shakily back down to reality.
“Jessie,” I say when I can. He doesn’t answer. I turn on my side, facing the wall between us. I place one hand on the smooth, cool plaster. “Jessie.”
No answer.
If I wasn’t exhausted and drenched in my own come, I might be inclined to think I hallucinated the whole thing.
8
Jessie
Islinkoutofbed, the smell of coffee is the only thing that makes me think that getting up as opposed to spending the rest of my life with my head buried under the covers, is a viable option. I find Luke in the kitchen. He startles when I enter the room. He looks like he’s been up for hours. His hair is neat, combed into a side parting, and his face has lost all trace of sleep-induced puffiness. He’s wearing the same flimsy sleeping shorts he wore yesterday.
His eyes stretch wide. His mouth does too, it’s a broad, toothy smile filled with uncertainty and hope. It’s the hope that infuriates me.
“Jess…”
I cut him dead with a blank, black look. People often tell me I can be intimidating. I never know if it’s meant to be a compliment or an insult. Right now I don’t care. I want to make it crystal clear that I don’t want to talk about my epic lapse in judgement last night. Not now and not ever.
He opens his mouth and then closes it again. Hurt dampens the reflections in his eyes. That only fuels my rage.
“D’you mind putting some clothes on?”
To my surprise he holds my gaze. He doesn’t blink.
“Why?”
He lifts his chin in a way that gives me a chilling feeling that I may have misjudged him when I categorized him as nothing but sunshine. I quickly ignore it.
“Has my dad left for work yet?”
