I can’t help but shake my head as I find the softest white athletic sock I own.Fucking hell.Puffing out a breath, I shuck my clothes and fall into bed, sock and phone at hand.
I have very little shame when it comes to sex, whether on my own or with company. But it still takes a minute to get myself in the mood. I feel almost guilty when a certain redhead pops into my mind with startling clarity, but not enough to banish the image.
Freckles are the first thing I see, floating over a sea of fire. Sharp blue eyes. An irritated scowl that has a smile tugging at my own lips. My cock plumps as I stroke myself, imagining the demands that scowling mouth might make of me.
But then the image morphs. The redhead wearing my sweater. A book in his lap and a soft smile on his face. I can practically feel the warmth of his body tucked against me, hotlike his temper. Smell the faint whiff of woodsmoke and spice I caught off him today.
It’s that particular fantasy that has my cock rock-hard as I slip the sock overtop of it like a cocksleeve. I hold my phone in one hand, recording as I jerk the sock up and down, slowly at first, a tease. It’s a striking image; I’ll give the requester that. My cock appears gradually from beneath the white fabric, the ink on my fingers a stark contrast to both. The muscles in my stomach flex as I pick up the pace, my eyes on the spectacle through my phone screen.
When I come, it’s on a grunt and the memory of a fiery voice calling out my name. The same voice that couldn’t quite help but ask me question after question today, despite claiming to hate the unexpected company.
Propping my phone against my leg, camera still aimed at my cock, I slide the sock free. My cockhead is shiny, a visual I have no doubt my viewer will appreciate. I make a production out of rolling the end of the sock down so they can see what’s inside. A pool of my cum, already soaking into the fabric.
I swipe my fingers through it, letting the cum drip from my fingertips, before finally ending the recording.
After a quick check of the video, I send it to the unknown number, beating my anticipated ten o’clock timeline.
My muscles feel like jelly as I put on some clothes and rinse out the sock. When I fall into bed for good, I expect to be out like a light.
Instead, the image of a redhead in nothing but my sweater plays on a loop inside my head. But rather than a book in his hands, he lifts two cum-drenched fingers to his lips.
The last thing I remember is him sending me a scorching wink.
Chapter 3
Isaac
I get to the library extra early on Wednesday.
So early, in fact, I feel triumphant as I lock my now-fixed bike to a rack outside the building. I head for the café first, as I always do.
Luckily, my latte is made as expected, two pumps of hazelnut flavoring with steamed milk andcaffeinatedrich black espresso. I can’t help but let out a sigh as I take a sip.
My good mood carries me all the way up the stairs to the third level, past the common area and stacks of books to the row of ancient cassette tapes very few venture past. But the moment I step around the corner and catch sight of my table, the smugness I’d been carrying detaches itself from my person and falls to the floor with a crash.
There’s a sticky note. On the table. With big block letters spelling out “Trevor.”
I whip my head around, looking for the man but coming up empty.
“Fucking fuck,” I mutter under my breath, storming the last few steps to the table and ripping the note off of it. I crumple the yellow paper and chuck it into the trash bin.
When did he do this? Late last night?
Did he want to fuck with me so badly that he went out of his way to visit the library and markmyterritory as his?
I wish I could say the heat inside my chest is only indignation, but I’m fairly certain that’d be a lie.
Regardless, I shove my backpack onto one of the chairs and seat myself in the other. I feel twitchy as the minutes pass, the anticipation of Trevor’s arrival like a living, roiling thing beneath my skin.
“Ugh,” I complain to the window, the sky outside still dark.
“I see my presence isn’t required to put you in a bad mood after all.”
“Jesusfuck,” I practically shout, my heart beating fast as I spin in my seat.
Trevor chuckles, his turtleneck black today instead of cream. What’s up with this guy and turtlenecks? “Not sure you’re supposed to shout inside a library.”
“Well, when a person causes my soul to leave my goddamn body, it can’t be helped. What are you doing here?”
