Chapter 28 Mickey #3
His eyes are closed. His head is tipped back, his lips parted and his chest is rising and falling.
Water pours over his hand, over his cock, running between his fingers and down the insides of his thighs.
His free hand braces against the tile wall, his palm flat, the tendons in his forearm standing out as he steadies himself.
He opens his eyes and turns his head toward the phone.
“Still watching?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is shot. “I’m here.”
His mouth curves into that private smile meant only for me.
His hand moves again. Long, unhurried strokes that pull the full length of him through his fist and back.
He’s fully hard now and the sight of it makes my gut clench.
His cock is thick and dark with blood, the head slick with pre-cum, and every stroke pushes a sound out of him that’s low enough that the phone speaker barely catches it.
A grunt that lives in the bottom of his chest.
My cock is harder than it’s been since the bullet, and it’s responding to the image of Benji in that shower with his hand around himself and his mouth open. My body is doing something I’d almost stopped hoping for and it’s doing it because of him.
His hips shift forward slightly into his fist, a small involuntary motion. His stomach tightens with each stroke, the muscles clenching and releasing, and his breathing has gone ragged.
“Mickey.” He says my name with his eyes half-closed and his hand moving.
I can’t speak. There are no words left in me.
His pace picks up. Not by much. His wrist moves faster at the top and his hips are pushing forward in a rhythm that’s stopped being voluntary. The sounds he’s making now. Jesus. His breath is coming in stutters and his stomach is pulled tight. His cock is slick and straining in his fist.
“Benji, open your eyes,” I tell him. “Look at me.”
His eyes open and find me. “I’m—”
His whole body tightens. His hips push forward one last time and his mouth opens with a low, shaking groan, his body jerking in short pulses as he comes over his own fist, the water washing it away almost as fast as it leaves him.
He stands there under the rainfall with his hand still on himself and his forehead pressed against the tile.
Below my waist, my hard cock is holding.
Thank fuck.
Benji lifts his head from the tile and turns toward the phone. The shower is still falling on him, and his eyes are glassy with heat. I can’t look away.
He reaches behind him and shuts off the water. The rainfall ceases, leaving only the sound of the last drops running off his body. Steam hangs thick in the shower like fog.
Stepping out, he turns fully toward the phone — completely unselfconscious. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, thick and soft, with droplets falling from the tip onto the tile floor.
For a long moment he just stands there, dripping on the tile, letting me look. The image burns itself into me — something I know I’ll replay later when the room is dark.
Finally, he reaches for a towel and begins drying himself.
The white fabric moves across his shoulders, down his chest, and over his stomach.
Every pass of the towel over his skin makes my fingers twitch with the need to touch him.
Once he’s mostly dry, he wraps the towel low around his waist and tucks the corner in.
He steps closer to the phone and leans down. His face fills the screen — wet droplets clinging to his lashes, hair slicked back, skin glowing from the heat. The silver chain rests wet against his skin. He simply looks at me, raw and open, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I open my mouth and what comes out is just the truth, raw and cracked and exactly right.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I am.”
He flashes me a big grin. There he is. Back again.
“Great,” he says. “Me too. And how was your day, Officer Weaver?”
My laugh comes out rough. “My day? You’re asking about my boring day? What the fuck was that, Benji? Jesus Christ! You’re a porn star.”
He smirks at me. “My ‘getting ready with me’ video. What do you think? Should I upload it to my social media pages?”
“You’re a dangerous man,” I tell him.
“Get used to it. I’m your dangerous man. You didn’t answer my question.”
“My day was fine until about ten minutes ago. Now my day is a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The kind where I’m lying in a bed in Jacksonville and you’re standing in a towel in Miami and the distance is making me want to put my fist through a wall.”
He rubs the phone screen with his thumb. “I feel the same way, every day,” he says. “I miss you so much, Mickey.”
“Miss you too.”
I don’t tell him what happened. Not yet. I’m terrified it’s not real or it won’t happen again. He doesn’t know that the faint whisper I’ve been hearing is shaping into a word and the word is his name.
Benji.
“Next time you come to visit,” I say, “be sure to wear your silver chain.”
He winks at me. “I always wear the chain, Mickey.”
“I know. I just wanted to remind you. When I have dreams about you, you’re always wearing it.”
He touches the silver chain at his throat. “You have dreams about me? Do you really?”
“Every damn night, Benji.”
Benji presses his fingers against the screen. “Goodnight, Mickey.”
“Goodnight, Benji. One day you’re going to pay for this.”
His grin widens. “I can’t fucking wait.”