6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Mac
Holy fuck .
My heart pounds and my stomach clenches painfully as I lean into the vanity in my ensuite bathroom and do my best not to hyperventilate.
Waking up next to Jordan was pure fucking bliss until the reality came crashing in and reminded me that we’re not like that .
He did it for the job.
He’s straight.
My insides twist all up at the reminder and I have to force myself to blink away the burning in my eyes.
It’s fine . The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Jordan’s. You slept, it’s fine.
I … did sleep. For what feels like the first time in a long fucking time, I finally found an REM cycle and stuck with it. There were no bad dreams or constant repositioning. I don’t even remember leaning close enough to end up half on top of him with his skin touching mine. His arm around me. Hands in my hair.
My cock pinned between his thigh and mine.
Which only reminds me of the other problem currently throbbing in my shorts that’s refusing to go down, even amidst the flood of cortisol currently pumping through my system.
Forcing a choppy breath through my dried throat, I dig the heel of my palm against my groin and groan.
Shitfuck .
With fingers wrapping around my length through the thin shorts, I dive for the shower.
It takes several slaps of the faucet to get the water running and I’m stumbling into the cold spray without even bothering to undress. I’m panting, shivering despite the heat that takes over the artic flow against my back, but it doesn’t matter that the temperature has hit near scalding.
All it does is remind me of the heat I woke up against and I’m fumbling around for the shower lube before I even realize I’ve moved.
My palm is slicked, and my abs are clenched when I peel back the wet shorts to free my cock. It springs up, nearly slapping my stomach, and hangs heavy in the air.
I can’t not do this.
The head is angry and nearing purple, the slit winking back at me with a taunting bead of precum leaking from the tip.
It’s almost as if my own boner is pointing and laughing at me for having been lacking so damn bad in the sex life department that I’m pretty sure my own hand can get me off in three seconds flat.
Not to mention, if I ever end up inside anyone ever again, I’m certain I’ll come on the first stroke.
Don’t think about your bodyguard .
Growling, I wrap my slick fist around my shaft and pump.
My jerking is erratic, but the tingles are immediate. From my curling toes to my scalp, I feel every stroke of my palm sliding along my flesh.
Don’t think about your bodyguard.
It’s been so long that anyone has been close enough that I’ve actually felt the skin against skin contact I crave deep down. The closeness and intimate familiarity of another body slanting along mine.
Don’t think about Jordan.
I’ve tried going back to my one-night stands.
Hell, I’ve even tried the gay hookup apps like Topple.
Yet every time their hands land on me, I recoil. My skin crawls. My boner deflates.
And I feel like I’m lying.
My palm twists over the crown of my cock and a gasp escapes my throat as if to remind me that it’s definitely not a boner problem.
Don’t think about Jordan .
Dark hair and navy-blue eyes seep their way into my subconscious anyway and instead of fighting it like I always do, I just … give in.
Just this once.
I’m too close to coming to put up much of a fight when my thoughts become languid sexy fantasies that put Jordan on his knees for me. My cockhead sitting on the tip of his tongue. His plush lips spread wide and waiting for me to feed him my cock. He looks near desperate when I hold myself back, admiring the way my fist bumps his chin with each stroke.
In my mind, he’d be antsy. Begging. Waiting for me to fill his warm mouth.
Imagination breaking wide open, I thrust into him until I’m hitting the back of his throat and he’s choking on it.
In reality … I’m practically fucking my own fist and clamping down to stop the images from ending too soon.
I bet he’d be glorious on his knees.
Sinful.
Submissive .
The thought of Jordan softening beneath me is what does me in. I’m painting the shower wall with my cum, my barely contained groans filling the shower up with all the sounds I wish I could share with someone else.
My chest is heaving with the comedown, my pulse thumping in my ears.
But with each moment that the high of the orgasm fades, the more and more my chest constricts.
It’ll never be real.
The rest of my shower is completed on autopilot, an aura of darkness settling in around me as I mindlessly dry off and dress for the day.
It’s so heavy that my usual mask of normalcy can’t even hide the entirety of the shadows I cast as I join a freshly showered bodyguard in my living room.
He might have a quirk to his lips, a simple almost smile that’s fucking mesmerizing.
But I can’t even look him in the eye.