When he finally pulls back, we’re both spent. George flops beside me, chest heaving, looking far too pleased with himself.
I glance at the phone, the red light still blinking.
“We should watch it,” I purr. “Tonight, when I get home.”
George’s eyes burn like he’s considering going for round two. I must get out of this bed before that happens or I’ll definitely be late for work.
He gets up, puts the phone down carefully. It’s still recording for a few extra seconds before he stops it. His voice drops lower. “And I demand every filthy video you’ve got saved on that laptop. All of them.”
I let out a weak, embarrassed laugh. “You’re not getting all of them.”
“I am,” he says, leaning down to kiss me slow and deep, tasting like both of us. “Every single one, Lance. I want to see exactly how you’ve been playing with yourself while thinking about me.”
I groan, mortified but stupidly turned on again already.
“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” I mutter against his mouth. “I’m going to be late. Morning shift starts in thirty-five minutes and I smell like you and sex.”
“My favorite smell on you.”
I shove him off, laughing, and try to roll out of bed. My legs immediately protest. My ass feels like it went three rounds with a wrecking ball, and I can’t stop the wince as I stand.
The first step is…delicate. I end up limping like I just got bucked off a mechanical bull that didn’t want to let go.
Behind me, George lets out a low, delighted whistle.
“Why are you walking like that, Lance? Something huge hit you?”
I freeze mid-limp and shoot him a glare over my shoulder. “Yeah. Just some obnoxious, hung bastard happened. Ring any bell?”
George grins, sprawling back against the pillows with his arms behind his head. “Must’ve been one hell of a hit.”
I hobble another step and immediately regret it. “I’m gonna need a goddamn wheelchair for rounds if you keep this up.”
He laughs, deep and warm. “You kept pushing that perfect ass back on me. Don’t act like you didn’t love every inch.”
I flip him off over my shoulder without turning around, still doing my best impression of a penguin with a bad hip. “Keep talking and the only thing getting broken next time is your nose when I sit on your face.”
“Promise?” he calls after me, voice dripping with filthy hope.
I pause at the bathroom door, legs still shaky, and look back at him. He’s watching me with that stupid, fond, horny look that makes my chest do ridiculous things.
“Promise.”
I finally disappear into the bathroom, his laughter following.
The laptop on the coffee table is playing. We’re seated on George’s couch, watching my private videos like they’re our own personal dirty movie night.
We start with my solo video—me on my bedroom floor, riding the black and green alien dildo. The thickest part forcing me open, the hooked base locking it deep. The close-up shots catch every bounce, the slick shine, my desperate moans filling the room as I chase my own pleasure.
George has one arm wrapped around my waist, the other lazily stroking my cock while we watch. I’m already half-hard just from hearing myself.
“Shit. Your ass is divine,” he murmurs against my neck. “Taking that thing so deep. You were really working for it.”
I shiver, hips twitching in his lap. The video next plays the one we made last night.
Now we’re watching me on my hands and knees, face down, ass up. The camera catches every expression on my face as George rails me from behind—my mouth open, eyes rolling back, moaning like I’m losing my mind with every deep thrust. George is grunting in the background, hips snapping forward hard, burying himself to the hilt over and over.
Then the angle changes. George pulls out in the video, grabs the camera, and moves it closer so the frame is filled with nothing but my ass. On screen, his voice turns dark with focus. “Show me. Spread it open for me.”
