My thighs tremble, my balls drawn up tight.
“Come for me, Kai…now.”
My name, Rooke’s entire humiliating command, hits like a hand on my throat.
Hishand.
And Christ, I want it. I need it.
“Comenow, or the first person I send that picture to isher.”
Shame and fury and pure crackling heat crash through me. My orgasm rips through me in silent convulsions—my back bowed, cock throbbing in my clenched fist.
Rooke laughs as cum flows over my fingers, and the sound makes my eyes flutter open just in time to hear him groan as he breaks.
I watch him come as the last few spurts of my seed ooze out of my dick. The sound of depraved pleasure he makes is so raw, it feels like nails down my back.
I’ve seen guys come in porn videos. Always fast-forwarded. My eyes were for tits, pussy, the arch of the girl’s back. Even with two men and a girl, they blurred into background noise. Just hands, just props.
But now?
I can’t tear my gaze off him.
Rooke’s jaw goes tight, tendons cording as his orgasm rips through him. His abs seize like his body’s trying to break free of him.
I watch how his cock jerks in his fist, fat spurts of cum striping his stomach while his fingers squeeze merciless.
And then he does this thing—grinding his thumb hard over his cock’s swollen head like he’s pinning the aftershocks in place. His whole body shudders, teeth bared, as if the touch is almost too much and not enough at the same time.
My cock twitches at the sight. At the sound of his shattered groan.
Jesus.
What the fuck does that feel like?
Watching him lose his breath under his own hand, I want to know. God help me, I want to know.
I want his hand on me like that—brutal, merciless.
His voice rips me from whatever fucked up place I went to, drags me straight back to reality.
“Fuck yes,” he exhales in a rough voice as he gives his cock another few languid strokes. “You’ve beensucha good boy forme, Kai. Now, clean yourself up, and get over to my house so we can?—”
I hang up.
My hand’s sticky. My throat’s tight.
I want a shower. I want bleach. I want to fucking disappear.
Mouth open, I drag in lungfuls of air, trying to get my breath back. But it’s a losing battle, because as I’m trying to find something to wipe myself off with, tightness grips my head, my throat, my chest.
I curl into a ball, nails digging into my scalp. Trying to keep it together.
But failing.
Always fucking failing.
I sob like the weak, needy little pussy he called his boy, hating him for it. Hating myself.
