A minute later, however, his phone chimed with an incoming message. The notification on his lock screen told him that August hadn’t sent any text, just an image file.
He opened the message with embarrassing speed and then nearly choked on his own spit at the image that August had sent him.
Obscene was the only word to describe it.
Taken from above, the picture showed August poking at an abused hole with the tip of his cock, the gaping opening leaking come and looking like it had gone to war andlost.
Ryker’s cock hardened, his thick shaft pushing through the leg of his boxer briefs and down the length of his thigh.
His mouth watered.
Putting his hand on his bulge, he licked his lips and studied the picture. Dylan’s hole looked like ithurt, the abused rim inflamed and sore, and Ryker wondered if he’d even been able to close it after August was done fucking him.
The idea of Dylan walking home after taking August’s knot, his hole twitching and leaking come, sent a tendril of heat down Ryker’s spine and right into his cock.
He texted August back.
You fucker.
There was no reply.
Turned on, Ryker debated with himself if he wanted to jerk off now, or wait until August came home. He squeezed himself through his suit, working his shaft and zooming in on the head of August’s cock where it touched the rim of Dylan’s hole.
Familiar and huge, Ryker was just as turned on by the sight of his mate’s massive cock as he was by the hole it had just destroyed.
Taking his hand off his bulge, Ryker decided that he would hold off on shooting his load until August came home. He’d go to the gym as planned and work off some of his pent-up energy, and then hopefully once he came home, August would be willing to give him a blowjob.
He put down his phone and gave his bulge one last squeeze.
Heading to the bedroom, he stripped off his clothes and made his way into the closet. He crouched down to rummage through his workout gear, selecting a pair of cold weather compression leggings and matching compression shirt, as well as a pair of five-inch nylon running shorts.
He’d do a quick run before heading to the gym, he decided, instead of doing his warmup on the treadmill.
The compression leggings were tight enough to hold everything in place, and the shorts would do a decent job of keeping his bulge hidden.
Putting on his running shoes, Ryker grabbed his favorite pair of winter running gloves and headed out. He took the elevator down to the lobby and exited the building, nodding to the doorman and thanking him for getting the door.
It was cold outside, but he knew that once he got his blood pumping he would feel fine.
Jogging down the sidewalk, weaving through people walking home from work or just out doing their errands, Ryker headed toward the park a few blocks away from his building. He hadn’t run there in a while – usually preferring the bigger park a little further away in the opposite direction – but he felt like changing things up.
Doing the same thing every time got boring.
As he moved down the sidewalk, Ryker noticed and ignored all the looks coming his way. His outfit was on the skimpier side – he wasn’t usually one for compression gear in public – but he wasn’t going to sacrifice comfort just to avoid showing off his body.
He was a little colder than he’d expected to be, though.
After a few minutes, Ryker reached the park. He jogged past the gate and onto the path, speeding up now that there were fewer people in his way.
The added speed was just what he needed. By the time he’d completed his first circuit of the park, he was warmed up, and by the time he finished his third he was sweating.
After twenty minutes, Ryker decided to exit the park and explore the city a little. He’d warmed up enough that he could go back to the gym and get in a good workout, but he was in the mood to stay outside for just a little bit longer.
He kept his run at a light jog, moving down sidewalks and going far out of his usual way, and after a while he found himself a few blocks away from the university, coincidentally just a few blocks from where Dylan supposedly resided.
Without letting himself think too much about it, he kept going.
It wasn’t until he was in front of the apartment building where Dylan lived, taking in the worn cladding and chipped window frames, that he was forced to admit that he’d been planning on coming to this very place all along.
