Lissa’s expression softens, and she touches my cheek. “I get it. If it helps, it’s flattering as hell that you’re so desperate. Just imagine how epic our wedding night will be.”
“Ha. Yeah. Thinking about that does not help the problem, but thanks.”
But as she drives away… Lissa’s not what I’m thinking about. The whole world has narrowed down to Ames saying those words to me yesterday?—
Suck my dick
Suck my dick
Suck my dick
And the buzzing has concentrated itself—Jesus fuck—right behind my balls.
I don’t mean to drive to Elspeth Peak.
I tell myself I’m heading to the station to prepare for my meeting with Greene in an hour. But somehow, I find myself taking a turn, and then another, then bouncing down one of the old logging roads that litter the outer edges of Winsome, my suspension squeaking as the truck navigates the ruts and potholes.
The unpaved parking lot is empty when I arrive. It always is this time of year when it’s too muddy for hikers and too late for skiers, but Elspeth’s never particularly busy anyway. Ames and I had the whole mountain to ourselves when we came winter camping over New Year’s.
Still, when I park and turn off the engine, the silence feels fraught and guilty. Like someone’s watching me commit a crime. My freaking hands are shaking… but my dick is also rock hard behind my fly. Way too hard to ignore and hope it’ll resolve on its own.
It’s ridiculous, of course.I’mridiculous, being here like this.
I’m not a teenager who needs to sneak around to jerk off. I’m an adult with an empty house and a job he should get to.
But this isn’t a typical jerk session. It’s not about arousal, and pleasure, and comfortable beds with crisp sheets.
It’s about…need.
There’s a tension inside me I can’t ignore. Sexual tension, yes—thank you, stupid fucking celibacy challenge—but not just that. The tension is also about all the shit Ican’t control, like my family, and work, and the wedding, and Ames pulling away, and me trying to communicate, and him saying?—
I close my eyes and groan as my dickthrobs.
My hard dick is not about Ames.
It’s not.
It’s my brain getting twisted up because it’s been a month since I’ve had anyone else’s hand—or mouth, Jesus fuck—on my dick, which is a goddamn long time for someone who likes sex as much as I do. So it’s helpfully combined all my stressors into one… physical stress manifestation.
A manifestation that’s trying to claw its way out of my jeans.
I unzip myself with trembling fingers and take hold of my cock.
This is about Lissa, I tell myself so firmly, I just about believe it.About that kiss that didn’t go anywhere.
It’s not about Ames.
Not about the way he looked yesterday, fired up and defensive. Not how I wanted to grab him around the waist and haul him off his feet so he wouldn’t leave with Auden. Not about the way I had to communicate directly with each of my fingers and make them release his shirt one by one. Not about wondering what Ames’s mouth would feel like on my?—
Stop.
But my brain won’t stop. Won’t shut up. Keeps circling back to those words and the image they conjure of Ames on his knees, looking up at me with bright blue eyes. Ames’s lips?—
The way I imagine they’d wrap around my cock. Theway they might feel against mine, soft but firm. The way his hands would feel on my body, on my dick. Slow fingertips teasing, skating across my skin in a barely there caress.
Damp, dark curls at the edges of his face while he pants out my name in a broken breath.Rob, please. More.
What would he be like in bed? I could almost imagine it. Sassy and back-talking but also open and free. Generous. Giving but also taking.
