AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nic brushes the crumbs off his fingers and grabs a glass, filling it with water. “Not yet,” he finally says after a long drink. “I think he just needs time.”
Maybe Nic’s right. He’s known Timothy since they were kids, he should know him better than I do.
Still, it doesn’t feel right to me.
Nic says good night a few minutes later, heading downstairs while I clean up my sewing space.
I turn off all the lights on my way upstairs, and that’s when I hear it. A soft moan from Timothy’s room.
My heart seizes and then pumps adrenaline through my body. He was fine when he went to his room, but he could’ve slipped in the shower. His brain could’ve started bleeding again while he slept. I don’t know, but a million worst-case scenarios race through my mind as I tear up the stairs and whip open his door and—
Timothy’s sitting against his headboard, his head tipped back, eyes closed. One arm is bent over his head, gripping the headboard behind him. His lips are pressed together tight, the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow, and I take one step into his room, convinced he’s dying, before I notice his other arm. It’s moving fast, muscles bunching and pulling.
Oh.Oh.
My eyes drop down his bicep, down his forearm to where his dick juts out of his fist as he pumps it hard and fast.
Desire floods my system, hot and thick. I need to turn around and leave before he sees me, but I can’t move. I want to see him get off.
Like he senses my presence, his eyes fly open, locking on mine. I feel his gaze, hot and dark, on my skin and for the span of a breath, I might as well be next to him. On top of him. Under him. My hand wrapped around him, his hand slipping between my legs. The moment between us lasts only a second but it’s so thick I feel everything.
Time might stop, but his hand doesn’t. He gasps in surprise, jerks, and—
He shoots himself in the face.
A second startled gasp escapes his lips and he flails, like he’s not sure what to do because he’s still coming, his eyes flying between me and his cock and the mess he’s making. Finally he snags a pillow, covering himself.
I can’t help it. I giggle.
Timothy blinks like he doesn’t understand what happened. “Fuck,” he finally says, wiping his chin.
“Oh my god, Timothy!” I double over in laughter, squealing as I slam the door shut. “Put a sock on the door. I thought you were dying.”
“I am now,” he says sheepishly. “Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”
“No way.”
His voice takes on a gently chiding tone. “You know this isn’t my most embarrassing masturbation story. Not even top five, Mina, so settle down.”
“You shot yourself in the face.” Tears are streaming downmyface, but at least it’s not jizz.
“You can admit you found the whole thing intensely erotic,” he calls out. I can hear the smile in his voice, and relief drenches me. My Timothy is still in there and he’s going to be okay.
“Good night, Timothy.” I giggle back down the steps to my bedroom, but after I put on my pajamas and climb into bed, that’s not the image that stays with me.
I huff a sigh and roll onto my side, but I can’t shake it. I’m going to be picturing the way he gripped that big dick of his, the slide of his hand from the base to the tip, the way his thumb flicked over the wide head every other stroke…
Flopping onto my back and staring at the ceiling, I try to think about Wild Things instead. Making enough panties for a pop-up shop. Including a candle or something in the subscription box.
Twenty seconds later, I’m back to Timothy fucking his fist. Was he thinking about me? He was, I decide, because I want to imagine the details. If he was thinking about my hand or my mouth, or my pussy…how would it feel to have his hands on me? Or my hands on him? A little shiver of excitement runs through me.
I need to sleep and there’s only one way that’s happening. I dig my suitcase out from under the bed and pull out my vibrator. For a moment, I think about getting up to lock the door. I don’t, in the interest of fairness.
Also, because I can’t wait that long.
I slip my pajama shorts and underwear down, flicking on the vibrator. It’s quiet, at least. I don’t think Timothy can hear it. Not sure I care right now. The wild part of me I usually keep locked down wants him to hear me getting off.
Usually, I conjure up some man with indistinct features for my fantasies. This time, the mystery man’s face keeps turning into Timothy’s until I give up in frustration and let myself indulge in imaginary sex with my best friend. Timothy on top of me, moving slowly, kissing my neck. Me, riding him while he pinches my nipples. Timothy, bending me over the arm of the couch, taking me from behind.
