-- he would pull back out of her mouth and
his cum would spatter across Haley's face. Maybe a little of it
would hit Simon as well, salty and thick. There would be a dab at
the corner of his mouth and he would lick it away before he pressed
his face into Haley's hair, sweat-damp but still smelling sweet,
and he would fuck her hard and fast still until he came, with
enough force to blind him--
Simon bit down hard on his sleeve as he came for
real, his cock jerking hard in his hands. His back jerked into an
involuntary hard arch, and he nearly choked on his next inhale. In
the aftermath he felt weak and shaky, almost exhausted, and even as
the lingering echoes of pleasure faded, he still felt lethargic and
heavy, slow as if he were trapped underwater. He remained curled on
his side for long minutes after, just breathing slowly in through
his nose and out of his mouth. A part of him still felt obscurely
guilty -- that fantasy had been more desperately detailed than he'd
intended for it to be -- but, he told himself, as long as he never
did it again, then he would be fine ...
He didn't expect to sleep, but he must have, because
the next thing he knew there was soft knocking on the door. "Simon?
Dinner's ready."
His eyes opened slowly. He was still tangled in
blankets, more than he remembered being, his head shoved partially
between his two stacked pillows. There was a slightly sour taste in
the back of his throat, spread across his tongue. He sat up slowly,
rubbing at his face. "Haley ... ?"
The door cracked open, just enough for her to stick
her head in. She gave him a single appraising look, pursing her
lips. "Or maybe you should just sleep."
"No," he protested. He tried to move, but his body
still felt sluggish, and when he shifted he was reminded that his
fly was still open, his cock damp and sticky against his thigh, and
so he stopped. "It's all right, I just fell asleep ..."
"There'll still be food later," she said. "You look
awful."
"I'm fine," he protested, nearly a whine. "Just need
to wash my face or something." When she didn't look convinced, he
finally swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep
himself still wrapped up in his blanket. "It's all right. I'll be
fine."
"We could make soup or something instead, I think
there's broth ..."
"Ha ley ,"
he whined again. "Just lemme wash up and I'll be fine."
She huffed but stepped back, closing the door again.
"If you say so. Whenever you're ready."
As her footsteps faded away, he oozed off the bed and
shuffled his way to his bathroom. In the mirror, his reflection was
honestly disheveled, more than he usually allowed himself to be --
no wonder Haley had been worried, he thought, peering at himself.
His normally-neat, fine blond hair was standing up in clumps, with
the beginnings of an impressive cowlick sticking out from the side
of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were darker
splotches of flushed red on his cheeks in stark contrast to the
normal paleness of his skin. He pulled a face, squinting his eyes
and sticking out his tongue, then turned on the tap as cold as
possible to splash his face. The shock felt both bad and good;
after a few handfuls of water he at least felt capable of moving
and coherent speech. He dried himself, then gingerly tucked himself
back into his pants and zipped back up. A few runs with a damp comb
helped tame his hair somewhat, and then he headed downstairs.
In the dining nook, Haley was already seated, a book
in one hand and an empty plate in front of her. When Simon entered,
though, she sat up, fixing him with another keen look. "You made
it."
"Told you." He stifled a yawn behind one hand,
shuffling to take the chair to her right, where he'd sat that
morning. "What'd he make, anyway?"
"Brick chicken," Dirk announced as he swept in. He
was carrying a large covered plate, which he set down in the center
of the table before removing the lid with a flourish. Three small
flat birds, their skins a picturesque
his cum would spatter across Haley's face. Maybe a little of it
would hit Simon as well, salty and thick. There would be a dab at
the corner of his mouth and he would lick it away before he pressed
his face into Haley's hair, sweat-damp but still smelling sweet,
and he would fuck her hard and fast still until he came, with
enough force to blind him--
Simon bit down hard on his sleeve as he came for
real, his cock jerking hard in his hands. His back jerked into an
involuntary hard arch, and he nearly choked on his next inhale. In
the aftermath he felt weak and shaky, almost exhausted, and even as
the lingering echoes of pleasure faded, he still felt lethargic and
heavy, slow as if he were trapped underwater. He remained curled on
his side for long minutes after, just breathing slowly in through
his nose and out of his mouth. A part of him still felt obscurely
guilty -- that fantasy had been more desperately detailed than he'd
intended for it to be -- but, he told himself, as long as he never
did it again, then he would be fine ...
He didn't expect to sleep, but he must have, because
the next thing he knew there was soft knocking on the door. "Simon?
Dinner's ready."
His eyes opened slowly. He was still tangled in
blankets, more than he remembered being, his head shoved partially
between his two stacked pillows. There was a slightly sour taste in
the back of his throat, spread across his tongue. He sat up slowly,
rubbing at his face. "Haley ... ?"
The door cracked open, just enough for her to stick
her head in. She gave him a single appraising look, pursing her
lips. "Or maybe you should just sleep."
"No," he protested. He tried to move, but his body
still felt sluggish, and when he shifted he was reminded that his
fly was still open, his cock damp and sticky against his thigh, and
so he stopped. "It's all right, I just fell asleep ..."
"There'll still be food later," she said. "You look
awful."
"I'm fine," he protested, nearly a whine. "Just need
to wash my face or something." When she didn't look convinced, he
finally swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep
himself still wrapped up in his blanket. "It's all right. I'll be
fine."
"We could make soup or something instead, I think
there's broth ..."
"Ha ley ,"
he whined again. "Just lemme wash up and I'll be fine."
She huffed but stepped back, closing the door again.
"If you say so. Whenever you're ready."
As her footsteps faded away, he oozed off the bed and
shuffled his way to his bathroom. In the mirror, his reflection was
honestly disheveled, more than he usually allowed himself to be --
no wonder Haley had been worried, he thought, peering at himself.
His normally-neat, fine blond hair was standing up in clumps, with
the beginnings of an impressive cowlick sticking out from the side
of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were darker
splotches of flushed red on his cheeks in stark contrast to the
normal paleness of his skin. He pulled a face, squinting his eyes
and sticking out his tongue, then turned on the tap as cold as
possible to splash his face. The shock felt both bad and good;
after a few handfuls of water he at least felt capable of moving
and coherent speech. He dried himself, then gingerly tucked himself
back into his pants and zipped back up. A few runs with a damp comb
helped tame his hair somewhat, and then he headed downstairs.
In the dining nook, Haley was already seated, a book
in one hand and an empty plate in front of her. When Simon entered,
though, she sat up, fixing him with another keen look. "You made
it."
"Told you." He stifled a yawn behind one hand,
shuffling to take the chair to her right, where he'd sat that
morning. "What'd he make, anyway?"
"Brick chicken," Dirk announced as he swept in. He
was carrying a large covered plate, which he set down in the center
of the table before removing the lid with a flourish. Three small
flat birds, their skins a picturesque
Similar Books
