Chapter 8
EIGHT
JACKSON
I’m lounging on my couch a couple of days later, reading homework for my Early Theater History class when I get a Grindr notification. They’ve popped up a few times in the last several days, and I’ve ignored them every time. I tell myself it’s because I'm busy, I’m in the middle of something, I don’t have time, they aren’t my type. It’s most definitely not because the only guy I can even think about fucking has brilliant blue eyes, messy blond hair, sexy as fuck tattoos, and a ridiculous purple ball cap. I’m in over my head with him and it scares the shit out of me. Yet I can’t bring myself to stay away. Though I know it would be the safe and smart thing to do.
Being with him is different. He’s so eager, so honest about what he wants and likes. He’s not afraid to ask questions and he makes me feel confident and beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever had that from a lover before. He gives me the control I crave in bed, but he’s kind, and sweet, and gentle, and he makes me smile, too. He wants to know about me. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me all the questions he did at the library the other day, but he seemed genuinely interested, like he really wanted to get to know me outside of the bedroom, and talking with him felt good. The way he smiled when he realized how passionate I am about theater was everything.
I’ve been so occupied with Preston I haven’t cared to fuck anyone else, and the idea of hooking up with someone that isn’t him feels wrong, even though it is just casual. Still, no matter how hard I try to convince myself he’s not the only gorgeous available guy out there, and that I should be playing the field more, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I find myself picking up my phone so that I can turn off Grindr notifications, when I see who it’s from.
Curious2002: Hey, Tinkerbell. Winky face emoji. If you want to get out tonight the biology department is having a volleyball match against the chemistry department and I’m playing. They do it every year, just for fun. Lots of people will be there. No pressure but I would love to see you there.
I bite my lip. Shit. I shouldn’t be going somewhere to watch him and a bunch of other sweaty men toss a ball around. Not that it doesn’t sound incredibly enticing. I’ve never actually watched a volleyball match before and I wouldn’t even be considering it if it wasn’t for him, but it’s not what we’re about. I’m supposed to be fucking him and leaving, period. Then I realize something.
Theaterslut: Why are you asking me about a volleyball game on Grindr?
Curious2002: You didn’t want me to text your number for anything other than hooking up
I can’t help laughing. He’s so ridiculous.
Theaterslut: Eye roll emoji. Will there be shirtless men and tight shorts?
Curious2002: Lol, I’m not sure about everyone else but I can certainly wear tight shorts and get rid of the shirt if it will get you there
God, I’m blushing like crazy right now.
Curious2002: So you coming?
I bite my lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. There’s a fluttering feeling in my chest at the idea that he wants me to be there so badly, and he even had the courage to ask, knowing I might turn him down, but I’m trying not to think too much about it at the same time and it’s got me all mixed up. I want to be able to enjoy this, whatever it is, and just be happy, but I’m so fucking scared.
Theaterslut: Maybe
Curious2002: We’ll be in the gymnasium at the south side of the rec center, if you decide to come, 7pm.
I set my phone down and rest my head back on the couch, groaning loudly as I run my fingers through my hair.
“What’s up with you?” Colby, one of my roommates asks as he passes me on the way to the kitchen. He’s big, bulky, has short dark hair and is on the wrestling team. He’s also stark naked. It took some getting used to at first, but now I don’t even think twice about the fact that he’s wandering around nude, his dick and balls swaying as he moves. They’re not too bad to look at if I’m being honest, and he doesn’t do it all the time, but he likes to “be free in his own house” as he puts it, so he does it unless we have guests. Jeremy, my other roommate and I have just taken to texting him when we know people are coming over and hoping he gets it before they’re all scarred for life. Rory staying here drove the poor guy nuts, but he got away with only underwear while he was here. “No one should be making that sound unless they’re getting railed.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, letting out a loud sigh as I stare at the ceiling and contemplate my life.
“What’s going on, man?” he says, opening a giant tub of yogurt and proceeding to eat straight out of it. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Stressed about the play?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s going well for the most part.”
“Acid reflux? Gas? Trouble sleeping?”
“What in the world?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “No. Well, maybe the last one.”
“I see. Guy trouble?”
My cheeks heat and he doesn’t miss it. “Ahh, yes, heartburn of a different kind.”
“I’m not in love with him, he’s a fuck buddy.” My voice is harsh but it doesn’t seem to bother Colby. Not much does bother him.
“Okay.” He takes in another giant mouthful of yogurt.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He swallows his food. “Is this the same guy that you’ve been texting with nonstop for the last week with a huge smile on your face? The guy you stay out late with almost every night? The guy you bolt out of the apartment to meet at a second's notice?
“It’s not like that,” I retort. “He’s just a guy. It’s sex. That’s it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem. He just invited me to watch him play volleyball tonight and I don’t know if I should go.”
He’s seriously almost finished with the entire container of yogurt already. The guy eats like an elephant. And he’s in incredible shape.
“Do you want to go?” he asks.
I bite my lip again. “I shouldn’t.”
“But do you want to?”
“I don’t want to want to.”
“But you do want to?”
“Jesus, fuck, yes, alright? I fucking want to.”
He shrugs, still calm as ever while I’m having a mini freak out over here. “Then go.”
I groan again and run both hands through my hair. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is. You like him, he likes you.”
“He likes when I fuck him,” I reply. Colby has no idea about the inner turmoil I’m having, and have been having when it comes to Preston, from the moment I met him. I’ve broken all of my rules for him.
And it looks like I’m about to break one more.
“Listen, please don’t say anything to Rory or Lucy about him. It’s nothing serious and I don’t want them to know.”
“No problem,” he says, and tosses the empty container of yogurt in the trash.
When I get to the rec center where Preston told me to go, I hop out of my car and move as quickly as I can through the night air, the winter chill biting at my face, my hands shoved deep inside my coat pockets as I trudge through the snow and onto the sidewalk leading up to the side door. I’ve never actually been here before, but I’m assuming this is the right place.
I’m grateful for the warm air that hits me when I step inside, and I knock the snow off my boots as the door closes behind me. It’s fairly busy, with students and staff bustling about. The rec center is huge and houses a multitude of different smaller rooms inside it, as well as a gymnasium. I can see a fitness class going on to my right, through the floor to ceiling windows, and the smell of chlorine hits me, telling me there’s a pool nearby. The sound of squeaking shoes and muffled voices echoes in the hallway.
There’s a fucking ginormous trophy case on the wall to the left and dozens of photos of the school’s athletes from now all the way back to when the school was founded.
I take a breath and open the door to the room in front of me. The smell of sweat, baking soda and whatever air freshener they’re using — lemon I think — assaults me as soon as I do, and it’s so strong I’m almost blindsided by it.
After a second of gathering myself I stare at the rows upon rows of bleachers off to each side. They’re not packed like I assume they would be for a real game, but there are dozens of people here scattered about. The teams are on the sidelines in huddles and I’m assuming they’re doing the usual pep talks and getting themselves hyped up.
I feel my heart rate picking up as my gaze rakes over the crowd of onlookers. If there was ever a place where I feel out of place, this is it. With my multitudes of jewelry, biker boots, black pants and white v-neck shirt under a black leather jacket, I’m not really giving off the sporty vibe. Everyone here is wearing track pants, sweats, or jeans and sneakers, and I’m definitely the only guy in makeup.
I’m tempted to listen to my anxiety and leave, but visions of a sweaty, half naked Preston spur me on and I make myself climb the steps, and then shuffle through the crowd until I find a seat in the center near the top with plenty of space on either side. I’m not a fan of sitting right next to total strangers.
I’m getting a few looks from the other spectators, probably wondering if I walked into the wrong building.
But I’m drawn away from their judgmental gazes when the teams start to move out onto the floor, six on each side. Each team has a few subs on the sidelines, but the floor is a mixture of college students and professors, men and women, all dressed in exercise shorts of some form and either T-shirts or tank tops. They also all have knee pads on.
My attention is of course drawn to the gorgeous blond in the red shorts, gray tank top, and purple ball cap, worn backwards, tattoos on display. He’s not shirtless, which is a bummer, but the muscle tank top might actually be sexier, giving me a very nice view of his pecs through the oversized arm holes. On the front it reads. I flexed and the sleeves fell off . I can’t help chuckling slightly at that, and when he turns and scans the crowd, his gaze landing on me, I flush like crazy and bite my lip as a wide smile spreads across his face. Goddamn he’s cute. Butterflies fill my stomach as he winks at me and then turns back to facing the net. He’s in the front left position, two players to his right and three behind him, and the other team is about to serve.
I have my hands in my coat pockets, but as soon as the ball is over the net and onto Preston’s side, I find myself gripping the bleacher underneath me, tight with anticipation as the players’ shoes squeak across the floor, moving to intercept the ball before it hits the ground. A girl in the back row bumps the volleyball up and directly above the girl in the front center, who uses both of her hands set close together, palms up and fingers spread to lobby it up in front of Preston. I watch as he moves, his timing perfect as the ball comes down slightly and he jumps, hitting it with the palm of his hand so hard I almost flinch as a girl on the other side dives for it, making good use of her knee pads. It keeps going like that, being volleyed back and forth over the net, until Preston hits it again and this time it lands on the floor on the opposite side and the scoreboard changes to 1 and 0 as his teammates cheer and give him high fives. Holy hell that was intense, and fucking amazing.
Since I’ve never played volleyball before or even seen a match, I really wasn’t sure what to expect, but watching Preston play is exhilarating, and while I don’t really know what a good volleyball player looks like, I can tell he is one. And yeah, he’s hot as hell out there, too, sweat dripping down his forehead and neck, his muscular arms flexing with each powerful hit. I was definitely not expecting to get a boner from this, but here we are.
The team members rotate clockwise every time it’s their turn to serve, which means they have just earned a point as well because the ball landed on the other team’s side, usually from a player hitting it over really hard like Preston did, which I’m learning from a quick search on the internet is called a spike, or a block, which is where one player attempts to spike it and the player on the opposite side jumps up, hands raised and keeps it from coming over to their side. But there have been some other amazing plays too, like last minute tips over the net that are unexpected and make the crowd go wild. I’m surprised how invested everyone is in this game since it’s just for fun, but it’s honestly really exciting.
When it’s Preston’s turn to serve he makes it look easy, tossing the ball in the air and then jumping to hit it, before he switches places with the player in the front left.
Apparently the game has three sets and they play the best two out of three, the first two going to twenty-five points and the third going to only fifteen if they need a tie-breaker.
Right now it’s still the first set and the score is twenty-two to twenty with Preston’s team, the biology department I guess, in the lead.
God, I can’t get enough of watching him, and he looks like he’s having the time of his life, which makes me smile.
The biology department wins the first match and the chemistry department wins the second which means there’s going to be one more and it’s getting serious, so much cheering and shouting, the crowd on the edge of their seats when the teams return to the sidelines for a short timeout before the final match.
I may be drooling a tad at the sight of Preston chugging water, his Adam's apple bobbing and his skin flushed and damp with sweat. I have to hold back a groan when I remember what it feels like to suck on that bump and hear him moan as I do, or the way he grips my shoulders as those lips feast on mine.
He takes his ball cap off and swipes his fingers through his sweaty hair, then dribbles some water from his water bottle on it before placing the cap back on his head.
I’ve never really been the type of guy who finds another guy sweating attractive, but mother of mercy, if anyone is going to make me change my mind, it’s him.
I can't believe how fucking nervous I am after the teams come back out to the court and the players take their places once again, with the same lineup they had at the beginning of the first match, though they’ve substituted players throughout the game to give everyone a chance.
Jesus, why is my heart beating so damn hard? I’m gripping the bleacher so tightly my knuckles are white, and I can’t stop my leg from moving up and down, a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a kid. I’m chewing my bottom lip so much it’s going to be bleeding at the end of this game if I’m not careful.
The game is neck and neck the entire time and the teams are both doing amazing jobs, playing their hearts out and making us gasp and cheer and clap enthusiastically.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat when it’s fourteen to fourteen and the chemistry department has the ball, getting ready to serve it over to Preston’s team. Whoever wins this round wins the match, and the game. If the ball lands on Preston’s team’s side, they lose. If it lands on the chemistry team’s side, the biology team wins.
The girl on the chemistry team does a perfect serve that goes to the back corner on the other side and gets set up for the same routine of bump, set, spike. I can’t believe these are all chemistry and biology majors and professors and not the school’s athletes because they are honestly so good, it makes me wonder what our actual athletes must play like.
Preston jumps and hits it over the net, where it gets bumped back into play and they do the same thing, their spike getting blocked but bumped back up, getting ready for another spike. The guy across the net from Preston is tall, and has clearly played before, but so has Preston. He leaves his feet a second before Preston does, his arm raised and his palm coming down as Preston leaves his feet, both hands in the air.
The spike comes in contact with Preston’s large hands, and it happens so fast I don’t even realize I’m on my feet when it falls to the ground on the chemistry department’s side, before anyone is quick enough to recover it.
Everyone is on their feet with me and it’s so loud I can’t even hear my own cheering over the uproar, but it’s such an incredible feeling.
Preston’s teammates crowd around him, giving him praise, and he grins so wide as he high fives them and accepts shoulder pats and slaps on his back.
Then he’s meeting my gaze again and I swear his grin gets wider, but it’s so brief, before the teams are meeting in the middle and slapping hands in a show of good sportsmanship.
God, that was incredible.
There’s so many people crowding around, making their way off the stands, that I don’t feel like I can get close enough to Preston to tell him he was amazing, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m still feeling really out of place and nervous, so I head towards the lobby area outside the double doors and pull out my phone instead. I’m about to text him when the door bangs open behind me and I turn, startled, to see him standing there, sweat soaked, and flushed with a towel around his shoulders, his blue eyes bright, and that ridiculous ball cap on. I can’t help but be surprised he’s here, though, instead of back inside with everyone congratulating him. Did he see me leaving and come to find me? I can’t help the butterflies that fill my stomach at that. He’d rather be out here with me than in there soaking up the attention and praise?
“Hey, you came.”
I can’t help the small smile that curves on my lips. “Um, yeah. I wanted to say hi, but there’s a lot going on in there. I was gonna text you.” I hold up my phone like it’s some sort of proof.
He grins and his eyes flit from the phone to me. “You hungry?”
I blink. “What?”
“Food?” he says, like I don’t know what hungry means.
“Um, yeah, I guess so.” I haven’t had dinner yet, and yeah, my stomach is protesting a bit.
“I’m fucking starving. And I stink. I’m gonna go shower in the locker room and then head to BJ's. You wanna join me?”
BJ's is a local diner that has absolutely mouthwatering burgers and delicious shakes. I haven’t been in a while and it sounds so good right now. Especially being there with Preston.
Before I have time to really consider what that means and all the reasons I should be saying no, I answer, “Yeah, sure,” trying to sound as casual as possible and not like my heart is fluttering against my ribcage.
Half an hour later we’re sitting across from each other in a booth with bright red seats, on top of a white and black checkered tile floor, sipping on shakes and scarfing down the juiciest, greasiest, most mouth-watering burgers on the planet.
I noticed we’re getting some attention from the other patrons. We kind of do stand out. The model gorgeous jock with the emo theater nerd. I tend to attract attention no matter where I go with the way I dress and all of my accessories. I know Preston does, too, but for a very different reason. He’s eye candy for the boys and the girls, and yet for some reason his eyes are fixed on me.
“This is almost better than sex,” he says around a mouthful of food. I raise my eyebrow at him and he chuckles before swallowing. “I said almost.”
We eat for a second longer before he takes a swig of his strawberry milkshake, then speaks again. “Hey, did you know that your friend is roommates with a good friend of mine?”
“What? Who?”
“Parker. We have some classes together and hang out sometimes. I was over at their place a few weeks ago to watch a game. He’s your friend’s roommate. Rory, right? Parker introduced us the other day at the grocery store and I saw you with him at the coffee shop and Rave .”
I feel my anxiety spiking and my words are harsher than I mean for them to be when I say, “You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”
Hurt flashes in his eyes and he flushes. “Parker, or Rory?”
“Either one.”
He shakes his head. “No, why would I do that? I just thought it was interesting, and kinda cool cause maybe we’ll end up at their place together sometime, you know?”
“You can’t say anything to anyone,” I say in a whisper, leaning forward. “Especially not Parker. I don’t want Lucy and Rory to know.”
“Is Lucy your other friend? The girl?”
I nod.
He’s tense now, and so am I. God, how did this get turned around so fast? I don’t know, but I can’t have my best friends finding out about me and Preston. Especially since we’re way past my one and done rule. That’s who they know me to be, because that’s who I’ve been since they met me. If they found out they would assume it was something more serious, and it isn’t. Or even worse, they would put thoughts in my head about the possibility of it becoming serious, and I can’t let myself entertain those fantasies. It would just complicate things if they knew and I’m struggling enough with all of this as it is.
“Why?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused, and wounded. God, I don’t want to hurt him but I can’t back down from this. I won’t.
“It’s just casual, right? So no one needs to know.” I know it’s a shitty answer but it’s the best one I can give him. My reasons for doing things this way are mine and I’m not ready to share them. I want to reach across the table and take his hand, give it a squeeze, assure him that it’s not anything personal. That he’s great. But I don’t because people would see and that’s the exact kind of scenario I’m trying to avoid. Just being here with him is probably a risk if I don’t want my friends finding out, but he suckered me in with those dreamy blue eyes, sexy as fuck smile, and contagious enthusiasm.
“I just need it to be this way for now,” I say, my voice softer, gentler, trying to placate him. “Please.”
His eyes meet mine and they’re sad, but he nods. “My roommate already knows,” he admits. “He’s known since the first day I saw you at the coffee shop. He hasn’t been at the apartment yet when you are, but he knows who’s been in my bed.”
“Has he told anyone?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know why he would. But he’s friends with Parker, too.”
“Can you make sure? Please?”
He nods again.
I bite my lip, hating the awkwardness between us. “You were really incredible out there tonight,” I say, trying to make the situation a little lighter.
I get a small smile from him and he meets my gaze again, so I count it as a win. “Thanks.”
I dip a french fry in some ketchup and then pop it into my mouth. “Where did you learn to play volleyball like that?”
He flushes and his smile widens. “I played in junior high and high school. We had a guys volleyball team. Did a camp every summer, too.”
“That explains the tattoo on your wrist then.”
He glances at the sunflower on his wrist with the volleyball in the center. “Yeah, a few of the guys on my high school team got them junior year after we won a big tournament. Glad I got it, too, because with everything happening with my parents I ended up not playing senior year.”
“Shit, that sucks. It must have been hard, giving it up.” I could tell from the first ten minutes watching him tonight that he was in his element. I can’t imagine how it must have felt to lose that. He was so focused, so intense, and yet smiled non-stop too, and encouraged his teammates. I can absolutely see him being a coach some day.
“Yeah, it was. My parents didn’t want me to quit, but I needed to be there for them and Paris, and it would have taken up a lot of my time and energy. I don’t regret it at all, but I do miss it. Getting back out there tonight was a lot of fun.” He grins again, his eyes bright, and it makes those butterflies fill my stomach once more.
“Thank you for inviting me. It was really fun to watch. Anxiety inducing, too, though. I almost wet myself there at the end.”
He laughs, warm and genuine and I smile. “Yeah, the games can get pretty intense.”
“Paris, he’s your brother?”
He nods, chewing on his burger.
“Your other tattoos have stories to them?” I ask, taking a bite of my own burger.
“Yeah, the Phoenix and the heart with the wings are for my other brother.”
“You have another brother? Besides Paris?”
“Had,” he corrects with a sad smile. “He passed away six years ago.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Was he older or younger?”
“Two years older. He had epilepsy, and was on a school trip and he had a seizure while he was in the water. By the time they found him it was too late.”
“Fuck.” Why does knowing he went through that make my chest squeeze and my arms itch to be around him? “His name was Phoenix?”
Preston nods.
“You must really miss him.”
“Every day,” he says, and that need to hold him close intensifies. Why do I love that idea so much? Being the one who comforts him?
“You guys had a couple of really shitty years there,” I say instead.
He chuckles a little. “We did, and I honestly don’t know how we got through it sometimes, but my parents were amazing, and it actually brought us closer as a family. We did some pretty intense therapy there for a while and that helped.”
I feel a pang in my chest for a completely different reason hearing his words. My own parents haven’t bothered calling or texting in months. I haven’t heard from them since I called Mom to tell her about getting the part in the play, and I’m supposed to be going home for Thanksgiving break in a couple of weeks. It’s so nice to know that the people you’re going home to don’t give a rat’s ass about what’s going on in your life enough to pick up a fucking phone. The idea of spending another Thanksgiving alone because they’re either working, getting wasted with their friends or sleeping off whatever fun they had the night before, once again without me, is not at all appealing, and I find myself feeling a bit jealous of Preston and his family.
“Jax,” I hear and blink. Preston is looking at me. “Hey, you okay?” he asks. “You zoned out there.”
“Sorry,” I reply, giving a smile that I hope is convincing. “I’m fine. Tell me more about your parents. What do they do?”
“My mom’s name is Pamela, and my dad’s name is Phillip.”
I grin. “Kept the P going, then?”
“Yep. They’re both retired now. Mom was a nurse. Dad was a mechanic. They were a bit older when they had us so they’re in their sixties now.”
“You talk to them often?”
“Several times a week. It’s honestly a bit much for me sometimes, but Mom especially has a harder time with me being away, and after everything that happened with Phoenix, I can’t be upset about her wanting to know I’m safe.”
My chest squeezes as he shares more about his parents, his little brother, who is so different from him but who he obviously adores, and the family dog who is going on fifteen, and is both blind and deaf, but determined to outlive the rest of the family, and spends her time snoozing by the fire.
He tries to ask about my parents, and if I have any siblings. I deflect the best I can, tell him their names, Joseph and Gloria, that Mom is a wedding planner and Dad is a divorce lawyer, ironically enough, and that I’m an only child, but then bring the conversation back to him.
I’m fairly certain he knows what I’m doing but he doesn’t call me on it, which I am incredibly thankful for.
That night as I lie in bed I can’t get thoughts of Preston out of my head. Not that I’m trying especially hard.
I wonder what it would be like to have parents who checked up on me regularly like Preston said his do, or send me birthday cards in the mail, or text me funny memes or gifs because it’s part of some inside joke that only our family would understand.
Preston’s life isn’t perfect, I know, but despite everything he’s been through, it sounds like heaven to me, to be a part of something that close knit, knowing you have people who love you and care about you. People who support you. Knowing you don’t have to be, or say, or do anything to try and earn their affection. Not constantly wondering if they would have seen you if you had done something differently along the way. If you had chosen a different career path, a different school, a different hobby, or major, had a different wardrobe even, if you would finally be enough. If you had followed in their footsteps would they have been proud of you, been interested enough to call and talk to you? Would none of it have mattered?
I shove thoughts of them aside and focus on him. His laugh, his smile, his eyes, that fucking stupid hat, those gorgeous tattoos. How fucking good he looked tonight on that court, playing his heart out, doing what he loves.
My dick thickens in my black lace panties, which are the only thing I have on right now, and I moan as I reach down and stroke my shaft. I was with Preston all night and we never fucked, but I’m hard in an instant, touching myself to thoughts of him.
Fuck, I want him. His willingness, his eagerness, his beautiful sexy whimpers and moans, his submission.
I grab my phone and take a picture of my very hard cock straining against my panties and text it to him.
Me: Look what you fucking do to me, gorgeous
Ken doll: Shit, Tinkerbell
Me: Do you have any idea how fucking hot you were out there tonight? I was so damn hard watching you. I stroke myself and wait for him to reply. Precum is leaking out and coating my panties now and I take another photo and send it to him.
Ken doll: Jesus, you’re evil
Me: You hard for me, too, doll?
Ken doll: Fuck yes, you’re so fucking gorgeous. Love you in panties. God I want to touch you so bad right now.
Me: Show me
I get a text a moment later and my dick jerks when I see his hand wrapped around his thick, bare cock, precum glistening on the tip. My mouth waters and I suck in a breath. I stroke myself harder, moaning as I do.
Me: So fucking pretty. I want to choke on that perfect cock. Keep touching yourself, beautiful. You’re gonna come for me.
Ken doll: Fuck, Jax, love when you tell me what to do
Me: Grab some lube and lie down. You’re gonna finger yourself for me, gorgeous. Wanna see that pretty hole
A moment later another text comes through and I have to grip my dick to keep from coming at the sight of Preston on his back, one hand gripping his dick, legs spread, and two fingers buried inside him, lube dripping down his ass.
Me: That’s it, you look so fucking good like that, doll. Keep going. You’re gonna film yourself coming and send it to me and I’m gonna jerk off to it, then send you proof of just what you do to me.
I stroke myself leisurely, enjoying the slow build up of pleasure, anticipating Preston’s video. It comes through just a few short minutes later and I open it immediately, my cock hardening as I watch and listen as he pleasures himself, moaning my name. Holy shit this is hot as hell. He fingers and strokes himself at the same time, legs spread and ass on display, whimpering, whining, head thrown back, eyes closed.
“Oh, god, Jax, so fucking good,” I hear, and my cock throbs in my hand as I pick up the pace, fucking my fist. “Oh, shit!” He’s coming hard seconds later and I watch, enraptured as his hole clenches around his fingers, his dick spurting his release all over his chest and stomach. I’m shouting my release before he’s done with his, my body shaking as I fill my panties and it leaks onto my hand and stomach.
I grip my phone in the hand that isn’t sticky with cum, and snap a picture. My panties are soaked in my release and my dick is still semi hard. I pull the panties down so that just the head of my cock is showing, covered in my mess, and send him both photos.
Me: This is all you, doll
Ken doll: Damn, Tinkerbell
Me: I think I can finally sleep now, thank you for the incredible orgasm, beautiful
Ken doll: Any time, goodnight
I clean myself off with the wipes in my nightstand, then toss my dirty panties into the hamper and grab a new pair. Red this time. I crawl back into bed and slide under the covers, and with my body sated and my mind finally relaxed, I drift to sleep.