I let her be done. Because if I open my mouth again, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep lying.
Since I’ve decided to battle my insomnia tonight by actuallyattempting to sleep, I strip off my clothes and slide into bed naked, trying to make myself comfortable. But there’s no comfortable sleeping position to be had when your dick is rock-hard.
I’m too primed from tonight. Too pent-up from these past six months. Celibacy is not a natural state for me. I like to fuck. Ineedto fuck.
I roll over, and my erection stabs the mattress. I’m so hard it hurts.
After several minutes of ignoring my aching balls, I think,screw it. Might as well take care of this. Leaning over, I grab my phone from the nightstand, prepared to find some porn.
Instead, I pull up Blake’s IG account.
This is so wrong. On so many levels. I recognize this. Not proud of it either. But knowing all this doesn’t stop me from scrolling through her feed until I find a photo that shows some skin.
It’s a selfie she took last summer at the Di Laurentis place in St. Barts. She’s sprawled on a lounge chair, wearing a skimpy red bikini. Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, wavy strands framing her face to emphasize sun-kissed cheeks and an array of freckles. She’s got one knee propped up in a pose that draws the eye—myeye, at least—right between her legs.
I imagine nudging aside the thin strip of fabric and exposing her pussy—and holy hell, my dick practically leaps into my hand. I bite my lip to stifle a groan, gripping the base tight before I come too fast. But then I realize, why prolong it? The faster I release this tension, the faster I can go back to looking at Blake Logan in an unpornographic way.
My strokes are fast, fueled by pure, helpless, inappropriate lust. I jerk off to the sight of Blake in that slutty bikini, thrusting into my fist while pretending it’s her greedy mouth. Her perfect face gazes up at me from my phone, and I imagine those pink, pouty lips wrapped tight around me, sucking me dry.
The climax hits me like a train, unleashing a rush of pleasure through my body. I grunt, coming all over my stomach and squeezing my tip to get every last drop out. Breathing hard, I grab some tissues from the bed table and clean myself up. After that release, I should be relaxed. Drowsy. Ready to finally,finally, sleep.
But it has the opposite effect. I’m more awake than ever now. With a sigh, I kick the covers off my legs and climb out of bed in search of my clothes.
Guess I’m writing on the dock again tonight.
GOLDEN BOYS
WYATT
Mullets. Not hot, right?
BEAU
Fuck no.
AJ
Not in the slightest.
GRAY
They’re hot if you’re a bassist in a country-metal band called Moonshine Possum.
BEAU
Name of your next band, Wyatt.
OK, but we’re in agreement? Like a mullet is on the same level as that mustache Gray grew last year, right?
GRAY
wtf don’t drag me into this. That stache was elite.
AJ
You looked like a gym teacher mid-divorce.
Or the narc on a cop procedural.
