“Yes, Sir.”I can hear the smooth, silky words escaping his throat. I imagine him opening that mouth for me with ease, ready to obey my command like the good little pet I know he can be.
I let out a heavy moan as my balls draw tight, and it won’t be long. My motion quickens as the sound of wet skin echoes in the air. Precum beads at my tip, and I spread it along my shaft like it’s lube, reveling in the feel. My back arches and my legs stiffen as the monster awakens, building ever so higher.
I imagine that perfect, pouty mouth fitting itself around my cock, imagine that sweet tongue of his rolling around my head. I imagine my fingers threading through those golden locks as I shove his head forward until he chokes on my cock. Until those long, slender fingers of his grip my thighs for support, until his fingernails dig into my skin and his face turns pink because he can’t breathe.
“Fuck!”
My orgasm hits me like a brick to the chest and my entire body tenses. Cum erupts from my twitching dick, spraying me across my chest, down my fist, and down my shaft.
My vision goes white, and I groan with relief. It feels so good.
So fucking good.
I lazily pump through my orgasm as the high starts to fade, and that’s when the guilt kicks in. Because it doesn’t last.
It never does. Not like I need it to.
My cock continues to twitch, slowly, until I’m spent.
Shame and guilt ransack me. It’s just a fantasy. It shouldn’t leave me feeling like this. I know that, but yet…
I feel empty. I feel like a monster.
Finally, I get up, if only because I hate the feeling of dried cum on my skin, so I know I need to clean up and get the fuck to bed.
I make my way over to the en-suite shower in the playroom—another aspect of this place that hasn’t seen anyone other than me.
The deep teal tiles shimmer as the water hits them, and I think it’s a travesty.
No one will ever see this. But I wish they could.
God, I wish someone could see the things I do. That someone could seeme.Not the CEO of Veil Technologies. Not the carefully curated playboy image I spent twenty years creating.
Me.
But that’s never going to happen. So, I push aside the deprecating bitterness and focus on washing myself of my sins, and when I’m done, I crawl into the playroom bed and pass out, dreaming of big green eyes and things I’ll never have.
Chapter Ten
Oliver
The apartment is quiet and the emptiness can be felt like a living, breathing thing.
I’ve always liked that about this place—it’s small and it’s not perfect, by any means, but it’s quiet. I never hear my neighbors banging at all hours of the day like Robbie’s neighbors who live next door, and aside from Mrs. Dubya, the seventy-year-old retired schoolteacher next door and Terry, the single dad who listens to his music too loud on the weekends, there isn’t much interaction happening.
Robbie’s been here a few times, but most of the time when we hang out or fuck, it’s at his place. It’s been that way since we started seeing each other. In the beginning, I was fine with that.And maybe I’m still fine with that, given that Sloane drove me home tonight.
I can only imagine what might’ve transpired if Robbiewashere.
Sloane offered to walk me to the door, which I’d refused, but part of me wishes I would have let him.
I can’t remember the last time a man offered to do that sort of thing. Actually, I don’t think any of the men in my lifeeverwalked me to the door, even after a first date.
And that thought alone is depressing. But I guess that’s the difference between average men and men like Sloane Pierce. Luxury breeds gentlemen and mediocrity breeds men.
It’s nearing eleven thirty when I hear a knock on my door.
I tense. I’m not expecting anyone, and it’s late. I get out of bed, walk over to the door and look through the tiny peephole and breathe a little easier when I see it’s Robbie.
