There’s a wet spot spreading across my boxers from thetip of my cock, and as I slide the waistband down, the fabric is already sticky with pre.
I never… took care of things after the massage.
That realization is enough to send a fresh bead of pre-cum dripping down my length. I find it with my fingers, spreading it across my tip, and the slide sends my back arching. I bite my tongue to stifle a moan.
God, I’m a mess. A dripping, panting mess. It’s been days, but I’m aching like it’s been weeks again.
My ass clenches, desperate. I should’ve brought lube. But I didn’t exactly plan on jacking off on a work trip.
I permit myself a low whimper, and as another bead of pre slicks my fingers, I drop them to my rim.
I moan. Oh god, I can’t stop myself, and I moan again, slipping a finger inside.
What if Morgan hears? What if she figures out what I’m doing? The thought is supposed to knock some sense into me, but the heat zaps up my veins like lightning, and my ass clenches around my finger.
Fuck, I’m getting louder, but I can’t stop. It feels too good—it feelsso fucking good, and I need this.
I think my best option is to cum fast and cum hard.
I curl the finger inside me, pressing on my prostate, and already heat coils in my core.
Fuck, if Morgan only knew what she does to me…
With a long, low groan, I climax hard, digging my finger into my prostate to drain myself. Rope after rope of cum lands on my hand, stomach, and chest.
I finally stop convulsing and collapse back onto the bed. Blood slowly drains back into the rest of my body.
Holy fucking shit. I’m still tingling all over.
It takes six tissues to clean myself off enough to slip into my bathrobe, and I tentatively peek out into the suite.
Thank god Morgan’s not there.
I slip into the shower to wash off the sweat and the rest of the cum, and I try to cleanse my mind as well.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
But it’s not like anything can come of it. It’s just… pining. A physiological reaction because I’m an unbound omega. It’ll fade in time.
I get dressed and chug a glass of water, swallowing my daily suppressant dose. A count of the pills confirms I haven’t missed a dose, and my heat is still two weeks off. I’m not sure if that’s good news or bad news, given my current state.
My head is clear now, at least.
I consider waiting in my bedroom, but after what Morgan said, I settle onto the couch and put on local daytime TV.
I’ve recovered enough that I hardly startle when Morgan comes in the door. But just as pride rises in my chest, the scent of musk and sweat and whiskey hits me.
Fuck, she smells good.
And she looks even better, wearing another sports bra and matching leggings.
I turn and give a timid wave. Morgan nods casually, then heads into her room.
My cock tries to tighten, but with how hard I just came, all it can manage is a dull ache. So far, so good.
Morgan emerges twenty minutes later with damp hair piled on top of her head, wearing a long chiffon cover-up.
“I’m headed to the pool,” she says.
