Before I know it, I’m holding my phone in one hand and lowering my sweatpants with the other.
My dick bobs upward, practically begging my hand to latch onto it and get to alleviating the ache she’s caused in me.
A stream of saliva falls to my dick, and I coat my shaft with it as I fist myself, matching the tempo of her cries.
My imagination runs wild thinking of the mess she must be making on the pillow and I desperately wish I was there to lick every drop of it.
Visuals of our night together consume me as I glide my hand up and down. Those blue eyes taunting me in memory, having me crave the effect their contact has on my body. I want to see them. Fuck, I want to see her. See how pretty she looks breathless and satisfied, with flushed cheeks, and that pretty pussy dripping for me, but I need to be discreet. I don’t want her realizing that I’m on the other line. Even if it were an accident, she’ll think I’m a creep. I can’t have her thinking that of me, although the desperation that I’m fucking myself with my own hand begs to tell a different tale.
Sounding like she’s on the brink of orgasm, my name is reduced to the last syllable,Más, Más, and that’s all I need to come along with her.
Cum streams from my tip, spilling onto the steps as silence creeps over us.
I hold my breath and move gingerly, afraid that any sudden movement will create a sound that draws her attention.
I’m able to end the call without her noticing, and it’s then that I let out an exasperated sigh, disguised as a grunt, that I’ve been holding in.
That felt good.
Too good.
I head to my bathroom to clean myself up and as I do, I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
The scar on my right shoulder is on full display.
Despite me injuring it years ago, it hasn’t bothered me until recently. Ironic, since I earned that scar when my default was recklessness And right now, without her knowing, she’s bringing out that reckless side in me that I haven’t felt in years.
Something that should scare me.
Nothing good ever came from me being reckless.
But fuck does it feel almost as good as she makes me feel.
Almost.
“You’re late,” my dad mumbles as he winds up his right arm for a practice throw.
I grab the baseball glove from his duffel bag, wincing as I put it on.
He whips around, anger drenched in his stare as he looks me up and down. “Really? You have nothing to say for yourself?”
I shrug as he moves closer.
“What was it this time?” The irritation in his voice cracks his tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pops.”
“Cut the shit, Tomás. It’s close to ninety degrees out and you’re wearing a sweatshirt. I’m not fucking stupid, I know that you’re covering up something. What happened this time?”
My lips part to speak, but I can’t seem to get the words out. Talking has never been a strong suit of mine. I’ve always found it easier to bottle everything up, which usually leads to me exploding at some point. But this time is different. I didn’t get into a fight unprompted, this one was arranged with a cash prize. Not that hearing any of that will get him off my case about it.
“I’m not going to ask you again. What made you snap this time?”
“Money,” is the first thing that flies out of my mouth, a response he was not expecting to hear. His brow furrows, urging me to continue. “Dante and Tino know this guy that arranges…”
“Enough!” He cuts me off, shaking his head. “I don’t care what the Amato boys influenced you to do.”
I don’t understand what’s going on. My dad loves Dante and Tino. He’s acting off.
