Page 102 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

Auston’s dick, which was going to fall off if he jerked it anymore, twitched valiantly. “I think about it all the time too. Fuck, it kills me to not be the one there to do it.”

“I want that so bad, you have no idea.”

Auston took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “You think you’re ready for the toy I’m getting you? The one that’s my size?”

“Yes. I’m so, so ready. Please.”

“Yeah. I think you’re ready too, honey. How about I send it to you, and we plan it for…Thursday.” He had that day off, so Auston would be able to dedicate all the time needed to the aftercare. He’d been worried, at the beginning, that their schedules wouldn’t meet up often, but Charlie seemed to have an equally uneven calendar.

“That’s actually perfect. I have Thursday free.”

Auston grinned. Sometimes, he felt like the universe was blessing their relationship, aligning everything so they could be together.

“Perfect.”

“Urgh, well, now I have to wait almost a week for Thursday to come,” Charlie complained, but Auston could hear the smile tinting his voice.

“You can play with the plugs all you want until then.”

“It’s not the same,” Charlie muttered. “Oh, also, I found this app that, like, blurs faces during live videos? So I was thinking…maybe I can use it so you can tell me what to do in the moment?”

Auston’s skin itched, he wanted his baby so bad. “Have I told you how fucking smart you are?”

“I mean, I just googled—”

“Don’t argue with me. I love that idea.”

Charlie laughed. “Okay. It’s a date, then.”

Auston grinned. “It’s a date.”

***

Auston had been looking forward to Thursday all fucking week. Had gone hard during the game the previous day, feeling like the biggest fucking Alpha in the arena, thrumming with eager anticipation.

So of course Auston woke up on Thursday knowing it was going to be a bad day.

“Fuck,” he spat out, clutching his hip. He’d gotten too comfortable lately, had stopped doing his strength exercises as diligently as he should have. And sure, he’d been banged into the boards the previous day, but he hadn’t thought much of it, adrenaline taking care of most of the pain.

Now, though, he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as popping a few pain killers and going on his merry way.

“Fuck,” he repeated with enough venom to sting his tongue.

He rolled out of bed, teeth gritting against the way an invisible knife dug into his pelvis. He sat on the edge of the mattress, catching his breath. Why the fuck hadn’t he thought of keeping his medication in his bedside table instead of the bathroom?

He managed to get on his feet, but the pain just got worse, shooting through him and almost making his leg buckle. He braced on the bed, shuffling around it stubbornly instead of letting the ache subside first.

He managed not to fall over and brain himself on the way to the bathroom, knocking back a couple of ibuprofen—he’d naïvely rejected anything stronger when the doctor had offered it to him.

He sure as fuck was regretting that now.

He leaned on the sink for a few seconds before shuffling out again. He was just going to go on with his day as usual.

He made some coffee. Ate some yoghurt. Limped to the couch, where he sat down too quickly, a bolt of electricity shocking his body.

“Jesus Christ,” he shouted, gut swimming and brain spinning.

At least he’d set his coffee on the table first, or he’d be dealing with second-degree burns on top of everything.