Pleasure pools in my balls, blinding and hot. My grunts grow more intense, my dick feels like it’s about to explode. I’m close. So, so close. But I want him to come first, to unravel before me because of how amazing it feels to be fucked by my cock.
Pulling on my bottom lip as I drink in the erotic sight under me, I bring my hand down on his ass. He moans appreciatively, so I repeat it again. And again. And then he is spilling all over the sheets, shouting nonsense as his climax racks through his body and flows into mine, too.
The tightness around me grows unbearable, too much. I fuck through it until I no longer can as my orgasm hits me. Pulling out, I rip off the condom and paint the brat’s heaving back with my cum, showing him who’s in charge one last time.
The tremors of pleasure hold me hostage for minutes, rippling through me as I collapse on the bed next to him. Slowly, I come off them, but I am too boneless to do anything or keep my eyes open, so I simply drift off.
When I wake up hours later, my hookup is already gone, though not before leaving a note under a glass of water on the nightstand.
I pick it up, a smile teasing my lips when I read it.
Thanks, blondie, you were a decent fuck. Wish you all the best, and no, you can’t have my number. Adios.
Well, fuck. I don’t do repeats either, that’s just the way of the game. But as I get dressed, check my wallet to find nothing is missing, and head out, I wish I woke up earlier so I could maybe invite the green-eyed brat out for breakfast.
2
Josh
Fourweekslater.
Reheated coffee sucks. And what sucks more is spilling that vile thing all over the sleeve of your new blazer because the damn train is overcrowded again.
Sigh. It took me over two months of negotiations with myself to even buy the blazer. I just hate spending money on stuff that’s not essential like food, but my previous blazer was already falling apart thanks to Anthony. Cats and I just don’t get along—I’m a dog person through and through.
I glance out the window at the moving scenery while trying to dab out the wetness with a doodled napkin I found in my pocket. It’s one more stop before mine, and then I can finally get off. Like most people, I’m not a big fan of public transport, but it’s convenient and cheaper than owning a car, and besides, in my twenty-five years of living in Portland, I’ve never felt the need for one.
As the MAX comes to a stop, a group of high school students hop on. They are noisy and colorful, riddled with piercings, make-up and highlights in their hair. There is a blond boy among them—probably the most tame-looking of all—who’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans and has blue eyes.
A thrill races down my back. My throat suddenly feels dry. I swallow around the lump forming, trying and failing not to think abouthim.
God, I still can’t believe I didthat. I bite on my lip, conscious of the tendrils of heat lurking just under my cheeks. I don’t really do hookups, but having the potential case of the fucking century passed onto you can mess with anyone’s head. I really needed the stress relief and, ugh, that man was gorgeous. Blond hair and blue eyes have always been my weakness… And his confidence? That slight bad boy vibe? How sexy it was that he took charge in the bedroom? The huge dic—I clap my cheeks to prevent my mind from spiraling down any further.Forget about him, Josh. It was a one-time thing. You and he were evidently from different worlds and will never cross paths again.
I will confess—I have been jerking off to him and all the things my imagination has conjured up of him doing to me. But in my defense, I have a stressful job that’s about to get a hundred times worse today and no one to go home to.
Taking in a deep breath, I refocus.Head in the game, Josh.Today is your biggest day yet. You don’t want to disappoint your mom, do you?
The train halts at my stop and I get off. I spare my ruined blazer sleeve only a moment, but then the sun caresses my face and the scent of flowers blooming somewhere nearby reaches my nostrils. It’s spring alright, though as soon as I dip under the shadow of awnings and trees, I feel the lingering chill that’s still lurking around. It will pass, maybe in another month or so, and then Elmonica and the rest of Portland will be green and warm and lovely for walks after work.
I drop by the sandwich deli on the corner that mom likes and pick up a tuna melt and a Caesar salad. I’d get us pizza from Giorno’s, but my lunch break is not long enough, so it will have to wait until the weekend. The hospice where mom is staying is up the hill from there, and even though I’ve climbed it every day since her admission, by the time I reach the unimpressionable brick building, I’m already sweaty and panting. It’s good exercise, if nothing else.
Daffodils and hyacinths bloom in the small garden space in front, crested by a congregation of wooden benches. Making sure no one is paying attention to me, I place the bags with our lunch on the nearest bench and squat down to sniff the pretty flowers.
“Joshua, dear, are you serenading the flowers again?” Mrs. Bennett’s deep voice startles me from behind.
Smiling at the note of amusement in it, I straighten up and turn around while smoothing out the creases from my dark gray pants. “I thought I scoped the surroundings, but somehow, you always manage to slip by. I’m really starting to think you lied about not being a ninja, Mrs. Bennett.”
She laughs, hooking her arm with mine. We enter the building and greet the receptionist, who points us both toward the cozy lounge where most of the patients here at the St. Benedict Hospice like to spend their daytime hours. The room is bright with sunlight, noisy too with the buzz of conversations and laughter.
“There they are, already at it even though I left him unattended just for ten minutes,” Mrs. Bennett says, herding me toward the table where two people are playing chess.
The man is her husband, and the woman is my mom. They are so absorbed in their match that they don’t notice us approaching.
“Hi, mom.” I plant a kiss on her cheek. “Is Mr. Bennett kicking your ass again?”
“Only because I’m letting him win,” she huffs out in that same way I do when things aren’t going my way.
“You say that every time, Amy Lee,” Mr. Bennett guffaws, directing his grin my way. “I’m beginning to suspect your mother is full of shit about placing third at that Oregon Championship.”
