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On the other hand…
On the other hand, is five fingers I feel like driving into myself. Right here in his entrance hall, on all fours, as I beg him to take me so I can scream his name.
I try to swallow but my mouth is so dry I can hardly get a crackle as my throat closes and opens.
I stagger to the kitchen, still reeling from the sight of Blake like that.
Jesus, I’ve got it bad.
I need to get out of here. I can’t take much more of this.
But at the same time, I don’t want to go anywhere. I’d be crazy to walk away from someone as amazing as Blake.
I just wish he’d notice me. Wish he knew the effect he’s having on me.
I hear a thud and a deep moan from upstairs, figuring he’s stubbed his toe but recognizing a familiar tone in the sound.
A sound to match the feeling I have boiling up inside me.
A feeling that makes me want to give myself to Blake, and not in a pink and fluffy romantic way.
In a rough, wild animalistic kind of way, on the kitchen counter. The furniture and the floor or all three.
Chapter Six
Blake
Once Krystal ducks next door to find us some coffee I’m left with a few minutes to have a quick look around. Make sure there’s no more evidence of whoever the fuck is really living here.
If he’s not home by now I assume I have at least a few more hours of his house and Krystal to myself before I have to come clean.
Tell her now. It’ll only be more awkward later on…
But we’re getting on so well, I’d hate to ruin it.
Jesus, he looks nothing like me. But then again, not many people do.
Stuffing some more of his happy snaps into drawers I find his keys on a rack in the kitchen, and through a side window, I can see his car.
A god damned wind-up toy fucking car.
No way I’d fit in that let alone drive it.
Okay, so my car’s in the shop. That’s my story and that’s the loaner parked beside the kitchen window.
I’m dying for a shower, but with Krystal so close I daren’t chance it.
My dick’s like a fucking stone in my pants, has hardly let up since I laid eyes on her. If I free him now I’ll only want to give myself a little handheld relief.
But I won’t. I can’t.
It’s for her, it’s all for her.
Must. Save it. For her.
Trying to stop the images of her in my mind is useless, and I only feel my cock stiffen and throb unbearably when I start to undress her in my mind.
Lifting her white sweater, freeing her thick chest, and devouring her pebbled, perfect sized nipples.
I growl out loud, telling myself to stop it.
Focus, Blake. This isn’t a fucking game.
My focus is here, it’s just in the wrong place as I catch myself unzipping my pants, gripping my thick hardness through my cotton briefs, and tugging at it like a desperate fool.
Freeing my cock from its fabric prison, right here in the kitchen, I moan loudly as I feel the warmth of my precome filling my palm, lubing me up in a second.
She’ll be back any minute.
I hope she is. She can give me a hand. Both her hands. See what she’s doing to me.
No. No! Not like this.
You need to fill her with it you moron, not the sink.
It takes all my will to unhand myself, and tucking myself back into my pants I can see the mess I’m already making all over my shirt and jacket.
Shit.
I strip off my shirt, and after running my hands under the faucet I make my way upstairs, hoping this guy has some clothes that will fit.
I find what must be the master bedroom, mirrored floor to ceiling doors and I slide them open.
Hope he kept something…
From some of his photos, I can tell the guy was much bigger before he looks like he lost some weight. I just hope he—
Bingo!
Or maybe crap.
Not exactly my taste in clothes, but I should find a shirt at least.
Not sure what kind of magazine this guy edits, but his taste in clothing is pretty out there.
Loud Hawaiian shirts, pink polos, and a—
Well. I guess that’s a wardrobe I won’t be opening again anytime soon.
Each to their own, but I just need some fucking clothes right now.
I uncover a stash of what looks like promo T-shirts. The kind of stuff someone like him must get a ton of every day.
Probably keeps them to give out as gifts, but for me, today it’ll have to do.
Nothing in the jeans department that would fit. I’m a very irregular size, and this baby’s arm upfront of my pants isn’t helping any right now.
Wishing I’d at least stopped for my luggage at the airport, I hear the doorbell chime.
