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Mack:Take this down.
Mack:Now.
???
Mack
Why? Why does God hate me? Fuck. Of course, of course, she has to post this right now. Goddammit!
I’ve been so fucking busy all weekend with work that this is the first time I’ve had in days to chill for a minute, and all I wanted to do was take care of myself before I fucking end up like a punkass teenager with wet dreams. Why did I fucking look? What is wrong with me? I was asking for this.
I couldn’t ignore that little ping notifying me that she posted to her story. I need to turn those notifications off. I don’t need to be checking up on her. She’s the only reason I even have any social media accounts though.
Now here I am, stuck with my dick in my hand staring at the photographer’s post that she shared to her story. I exit out of it immediately. But now I’m back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Her outfit is actually tamer than what it could have been compared to the boudoir photos I saw earlier, but that somehow makes it so much worse. It’s the way she’s looking directly into the camera. No hesitation. All confidence. God, it’s sexy.
Does it hurt the way her back is arched on that little fancy couch or the way her hands are touching her neck or the way her lips are parted or the curve of her bare legs… fuck.
My dick twitches in my hand, and for the briefest of moments I clamp down, sliding my hand up and down my shaft. I close my eyes, trying to block her out. I just need to finish first. I squeeze harder, desperately trying to think of anything else. Just don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t fucking look.
Dammit!
I shove my dick back in my pants, pushing myself up from my bed. I can’t do this now. I’ve never jerked off to her. I can’t. Not that thoughts of her don’t come creeping up every singletime. Thoughts of her lying on her back in my bed, the feel of her skin against my fingers, those eyes staring back at me.
I push them away though. I always push them away. That can’t ever change.
I squeeze my phone until my knuckles turn white. I grab a screenshot, and without putting much rational thought into the message since all my blood is currently away from my brain, I send Thea a text.
Me:Take this down.
Me:Now.
She reads the message almost immediately, and that spikes my anxiety to the roof. Fuck! She’s going to respond. I know she will. It’ll be something snarky like always. And I’m going to reply. Of course, I am. So now I’m going to be talking to her while my cock is still throbbing. Why did I send that text? Why couldn’t I just let it go?
Thea Marie:I’m not taking it down.
Me:Thea.
Thea Marie:Mack.
Me:I’m serious.
Thea Marie:So am I.
Me:What happened to this being “just for yourself?”
Thea Marie:It’s not even my photo. I’m tagged in it.
Me:Tell her to take it down.
Thea Marie:Literally the whole point of me helping her do the shoot was for her portfolio.
Me:Dammit, Thea! Don’t make me come over there to take it down myself.
Thea Marie:Deal with it. Not my problem.
Me:You think I won’t?
