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Authors: Ella Frank, Brooke Blaine
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frenzy and still be hidden should someone walk in the door. As an adult, the activity wasn’t about hiding; it was much more salacious than that. It was about the clawing need in the pit of his stomach that reached down and grabbed his balls, demanding him to fuck whatever he could find to get off.
If that happened to be his mattress, then that was what he’d fucking use.
Pulling his hips back, he slammed them up against the side of the bed, his cock sliding inside the slick Vaseline grip of the bag as he imagined that it was a hot, wet cunt instead.
Fuck, that felt good .
He pushed his hips harder before pulling them away and gradually easing inside, the slow, torturous slide causing him to shiver in anticipation. He stayed there, flush against the bed, as he jerked his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts. The high was rising, and his head fell back, opening himself up to the flood of ecstasy he knew was coming. His eyes glazed over as the pleasure rushed to his head, and he blinked several times, trying to clear it so he could hang on to that high before he passed the fuck out.
That’s when he saw her again, beckoning to him from the corner of his eye, and he briefly faltered before picking the pace back up. The image on his computer screen taunted him as he continued pummeling the mattress, his ass cheeks clenching with each piston of his hips.
Fuck her , he thought as he pounded between the tight fit, tearing his eyes away. The orgasm he’d been chasing was slowly fading. Shaking his head, he gripped the sheets until his knuckles hurt.
No, no, no.
The rush he’d been feeling only seconds before subsided, and as the ache in his cock was replaced with pain, he groaned.
“Fuck you!” he shouted as he slammed his hips back against the bed. The sting made him wince, but still, he tried again, glaring at her as he cursed out, “Fuck you!”
The smile that had once been inviting now seemed to smirk at him as his hard-on waned. He tried desperately to block her from his head, to get back the high, but it was gone. Fucking gone.
“Goddammit!” he roared, clenching the bedsheets in his hands and ripping them off, the move causing his limp cock to pull out roughly from between the mattresses. He stood up and tore the rest of them off the bed before throwing them across the room, knocking over a lamp so that it all crashed to the floor. “Fuck!”
He was panting as he bent over and placed his hands on the bed, drenched in sweat and shaking from frustration. Clenching his jaw, he stood and stumbled before he moved away from the object of his self-destruction. Then he glanced at the image once more as his back hit the wall of his bedroom and he wondered what the fuck she had done to him.
Never had he been unable to find some kind of fucking satisfaction. Never had he consistently been drawn to one person the way he seemed drawn to her. And as he slid down the wall, dejected and exhausted, he tried to pinpoint the exact reason for his growing obsession.His usual tricks weren’t working, and he knew that somehow she was the source of his inability to find satisfaction.
She was a gorgeous woman, but he’d had gorgeous women.
Was it that she was a challenge now after her firm denial of him? Was it because he knew she needed to be off-limits so he could keep his fucking job? Or was he simply trying to trade in one addiction for another?
He rubbed the back of his neck in vexation. The lights from the city seemed to shine on him now like a fucking spotlight as he pulled his knees up to his chest. He kept his eyes on the now achingly familiar face staring back at him and wrapped his arms around his knees, unable to stop the shame that started to trickle inside the cracks of his well-established armor.
Where he’d originally craved the eyes of an outsider to heighten his release, the eyes of a still image were now more than he could bear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IF HE HAD to watch Reagan’s
If that happened to be his mattress, then that was what he’d fucking use.
Pulling his hips back, he slammed them up against the side of the bed, his cock sliding inside the slick Vaseline grip of the bag as he imagined that it was a hot, wet cunt instead.
Fuck, that felt good .
He pushed his hips harder before pulling them away and gradually easing inside, the slow, torturous slide causing him to shiver in anticipation. He stayed there, flush against the bed, as he jerked his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts. The high was rising, and his head fell back, opening himself up to the flood of ecstasy he knew was coming. His eyes glazed over as the pleasure rushed to his head, and he blinked several times, trying to clear it so he could hang on to that high before he passed the fuck out.
That’s when he saw her again, beckoning to him from the corner of his eye, and he briefly faltered before picking the pace back up. The image on his computer screen taunted him as he continued pummeling the mattress, his ass cheeks clenching with each piston of his hips.
Fuck her , he thought as he pounded between the tight fit, tearing his eyes away. The orgasm he’d been chasing was slowly fading. Shaking his head, he gripped the sheets until his knuckles hurt.
No, no, no.
The rush he’d been feeling only seconds before subsided, and as the ache in his cock was replaced with pain, he groaned.
“Fuck you!” he shouted as he slammed his hips back against the bed. The sting made him wince, but still, he tried again, glaring at her as he cursed out, “Fuck you!”
The smile that had once been inviting now seemed to smirk at him as his hard-on waned. He tried desperately to block her from his head, to get back the high, but it was gone. Fucking gone.
“Goddammit!” he roared, clenching the bedsheets in his hands and ripping them off, the move causing his limp cock to pull out roughly from between the mattresses. He stood up and tore the rest of them off the bed before throwing them across the room, knocking over a lamp so that it all crashed to the floor. “Fuck!”
He was panting as he bent over and placed his hands on the bed, drenched in sweat and shaking from frustration. Clenching his jaw, he stood and stumbled before he moved away from the object of his self-destruction. Then he glanced at the image once more as his back hit the wall of his bedroom and he wondered what the fuck she had done to him.
Never had he been unable to find some kind of fucking satisfaction. Never had he consistently been drawn to one person the way he seemed drawn to her. And as he slid down the wall, dejected and exhausted, he tried to pinpoint the exact reason for his growing obsession.His usual tricks weren’t working, and he knew that somehow she was the source of his inability to find satisfaction.
She was a gorgeous woman, but he’d had gorgeous women.
Was it that she was a challenge now after her firm denial of him? Was it because he knew she needed to be off-limits so he could keep his fucking job? Or was he simply trying to trade in one addiction for another?
He rubbed the back of his neck in vexation. The lights from the city seemed to shine on him now like a fucking spotlight as he pulled his knees up to his chest. He kept his eyes on the now achingly familiar face staring back at him and wrapped his arms around his knees, unable to stop the shame that started to trickle inside the cracks of his well-established armor.
Where he’d originally craved the eyes of an outsider to heighten his release, the eyes of a still image were now more than he could bear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IF HE HAD to watch Reagan’s
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