***
I wake up hard.
Same as yesterday, the day before that, and every day since I hit puberty. Most mornings I ignore it. I’m not some hormonal teenager who needs to get off the second his cock twitches.
But today... today I don’t have that kind of restraint.
Today I won’t ignore the need because no way will I spend another day with a semi, snapping at everyone every five minutes.
I have things to do, people to threaten.
Intimidation is massively less effective when you’re sporting a sizable hard-on.
So, today, I won’t pretend I can walk it off. I won’t pretend I can cold-shower it away or distract myself with work, because Leilani’s here and if the past three days have taught me anything, it’s that my cock won’t fucking quit just because I want it to.
It’ll only get worse the moment I see her in that skimpy top she calls a nightdress...
If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll walk into Carter’s so strung out I’ll choke someone just for breathing too loud.
Probably Broadway.
Leilani’s up already, moving around in the kitchen. A cupboard door clicks shut followed by the faint clunk of a spoon landing inside an empty cup.
I kick the comforter off, pushing myself upright against the headboard. My palm drags down my abs until I wrap it around the thick outline straining against the cotton of my boxers.
A low groan vibrates my chest.
Carter will kill me if I spend another meeting zoning out, so this is maintenance.
Sanity preservation, not indulgence.
It’s indulgence.
Fine, whatever. A little indulgence never killed anybody.
Pushing the waistband lower, I take my cock out, slicking my thumb over the precum beading at the tip. Heat jolts down my spine, sparks dance in my legs, and my brain does what it’s been doing since the second I first saw Leilani.
She materializes at the forefront of my imagination, wearing that sleepy look, making those unintentionally erotic moans while she eats yet another meal she hasn’t had for years.
I’ve made it a point of honor to spoil her with processed, unhealthy food until she begs for salad.
Twisting my hand at the tip, I stroke faster, my muscles pulling taut, veins throbbing under my grip.
I didn’t realize how difficult it’d be to keep my hands off her when she boldly announced she’d stay with me. Every glance. Every smile. Every innocent brush of her body against mine drives me up the wall.
I picture her bent over the kitchen counter, me holding her down, my cock sliding slowly into her until her gasps become whimpers.
Would she let me?
Would she throw her fists?
Another groan slips past my lips. My chest heaves, sweat gathering between my pecs, my stomach flexing with each thrust upward, balls pulling tight.
This is new territory for me. I never hold back. If I want a girl, I make a move. But I can’t. She’s not ready for me. She doesn’t trust me yet and she’s raw in all the wrong places.
Chaos, fire, and trauma in an all-too-beautiful wrapper.
I’m an asshole for wanting her like this while she’s fragile, however hard she hides it.
