Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Whatever self-preservation I have left screams at me not to do it, but the thing that’s inside me that has never had good self-control ignores it.
I run my hand down my body and grip my cock, giving it a few slow strokes first. Blake watches and matches my actions and speed. It feels as if he’s the one doing it to me. There may be a glass wall between us, but it’s as if he’s in here, touching me, running his thumb over the head of my dick where precum leaks.
I imagine Blake joining me and getting on his knees to taste it while I thrust inside that virgin mouth of his until he’s begging to choke on my dick.
Blake uses his free hand to cup his balls.
I want to tell him to keep going further, to reach back and play with his hole, but I hold it in. The thought of being the first and only person to touch him there drives me wild with need.
While I’m still confident I’ll be able to get Blake to break, there’s something to be said about anticipation, and this is edging to the fullest meaning of the word.
Hell, this is nearly downright cruel.
The thought that this is Blake playing games with me quickly gets pushed aside. Years of the same shit from bicurious guys have made me a little jaded. Because of that, if I were a smart man, I wouldn’t let this go any further, and I’d take my public embarrassment like a champ.
Because singing in front of a large crowd might still hurt less than being used. Again.
It doesn’t matter that I’m basically doing the same thing. I’m using Blake to distract me from Ben, but the difference is, I’m making the exact same mistake I always do.
Blake throws his head back and says my name, making all those reservations disappear. I’ve never heard the name Jordan said with such passion and force. Blake’s thinking of me while he jerks himself. He’s thinking of me as cum fills his hand. And as much as I want to be strong and protect myself, I want to come more.
All at once, Blake’s muscles contract. He’s not as big as he usually is in his Coby movies, but it’s still impressive watching the ripples of muscle as he tenses and comes all over himself.
I unleash a moment later, shooting all over the shower glass.
There’s a moment where we’re both silent and breathing heavy, until Blake breaks out into a grin.
“You better wash that off and hurry up and get out. I need to shower.”
“I painted it for you. You don’t like my art?”
The fact he can act like his normal carefree self after that proves everything I already suspect, but I still have no desire to stop.
“Am I sleeping in your room again tonight?” Blake asks.
“Think you can do it without losing this bet?”
“After this?” He runs his finger down his chest, wiping away his cum. “Definitely.”
“Damn it, why does that sound like another challenge?”
And why do I have this inability to say no even when I should?
Blake plays it cool when we go to bed, turning his back on me so he doesn’t even give me a chance to try for more, which I’m thankful for, but it also sits weird in my chest. He got off, then pretended nothing happened. It leaves me with an unsettled feeling, but that melts away when I wake up in the middle of the night with him spooning me again.
It’s causing a flip-flop of emotions inside me because I know what this is. But at the same time, it feels different.
Doesn’t it always? That annoying little voice in the back of my mind is right.
With nearly every guy, I’d think, this could be the one that sticks. Each new guy is different, but then they’d go and prove they’re all the same.
“I really am getting better at this affection thing,” Blake rumbles against my back when he wakes up.
I’ve been awake for about an hour, just enjoying the feel of someone pressed against me.
His breath heats my skin as he talks. “I didn’t even know I was cuddling you.”
“Mmhmm. Maybe you’re gay when you’re asleep.”
“Guess so.” He rolls away and gets out of bed, stretching as he does. “I’m starving.” Those abs he came all over last night are on display, and he trails his hand over them as he reaches into his waistband to adjust himself.
“We didn’t even get a chance to build up your appetite,” I say, unable to stop staring at the tent in his sweats.
“Still hungry. The sucky thing about not training in between Coby movies is I still have the insane desire to eat all the food. It’s a constant struggle to limit myself. Coming down for breakfast?”
“Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.”