Chapter 51 Mal
Chapter Fifty-One
Mal
A dream cum true
It’s still dark outside but not long until dawn when I awaken. I have the barest hint of a memory of Todd carrying me back to my apartment last night and tucking me in, and…
Sigh.
I’m still wrapped in my towel.
I also have a problem, and I know our play last night revolved around me being Todd’s good boy and not jerking off, but my morning wood is nearly painful. Not even a cold shower will knock this tentpole down.
Fuck it. I’ll take my chances getting “punished” later.
Oh, noes, don’t threaten me with a good time.
From my pillowcase, I grab his shirt I swiped, press my face into it, close my eyes, wrap my fingers around my cock, and imagine walking over to Todd’s room where I climb onto his bed, straddle him, and—
Oh, yeah.
My cock loves that fantasy. So much so I need to ease up because I nearly explode, and I want to stretch this out a little.
I slow my strokes and imagine what it’d feel like having that gorgeous cock of his sliding up my ass, slowly riding him while he strokes my cock.
Yum!
This is something I could quickly get addicted to in real life, much less fantasizing about it.
I wonder how much trouble I’d be in if I talked him into fucking me now?
Then again, I don’t want to get him in trouble with Jax. And I damn sure don’t want to do anything to get myself kicked out of here.
I need to say something to him.
As I stroke my cock I make it last, pretend I’m staring down at him, those deep brown eyes of his focused on me, his hungry gaze filled with possessive fire.
Yeah, I’d enjoy getting to slut around, but I want to feel…
Owned.
Possessed.
As if someone gives a damn about me as a person because they love me.
Again, not like my mom loves me. Ew.
Someone safe to come home to every night, to give myself to, who loves me for me and never wants to let me go.
I don’t know how long I lie there stroking, edging myself, dragging it out because if I can’t have the real thing right now, at least a bitch can dream, right?
In my fantasy, I feel him growing closer, closer, nearly ready to come inside me and he gasps, “I’m close!”
“Do it,” I whisper, wishing this were more than my own hand and an empty bed. My back arches, and I pound my cock as the tightly coiled pleasure snaps free and my juices pump out of me and all over my fist.
I lie there panting, my pulse finally slowing, reluctant to open my eyes again because I know what I’ll see.
Rather, who I won’t see.
It’s a quarter til six, and I decide it’s better to get up and take a shower and start my day rather than lying here feeling sorry for myself.
Besides, if I don’t get up now, I’m liable to start jerking off again.
It’s 6:30 when I let myself into Todd’s kitchen, where the lights are on and coffee’s brewing, but I don’t see him.
“It’s me,” I call out.
“Be right there.”
I fill my mug with coffee and fix it before I start prepping to make pancakes. I hear him enter the kitchen, and I glance back to see him standing there, jeans, barefoot, his work shirt still unbuttoned, and our gazes lock.
Like, I feel a literal click standing there.
I don’t know who moved first, but thank the Goddess I hadn’t turned the stove on yet, because I’m wrapped around him like a horny spider monkey, and he walks us into the living room where we land on the couch with me on top.
Slanting my lips over his, his hands slide down my back, into the pockets of my jeans, and he grinds his hips against mine. There’s no air in my lungs because it’s all for him, a thick mental slurry engulfing my brain as my body switches over to autopilot.
“I jerked off this morning,” I gasp. “Sorry. I couldn’t help fantasizing about going into your room and riding you.”
He freezes, his eyes going wide as he stares up at me. For a moment, I panic that I said something…wrong? But I have no clue what.
“What?” he whispers.
“I…” I lick my kiss-swollen lips. “I woke up and jerked off to—”
He grabs me by the head and drags me down for another crushing kiss, his tongue fucking my mouth. I can no longer ignore my erection and grind my hips against him, trying to hump him, to get traction for relief.
When he fists my hair and pulls me up so he can talk, it surprises me, and I’m still trying to re-engage our kiss. “I don’t know what I’m feeling for you,” he says, “but I’ve never felt it before, and I don’t want it to stop.”
I think my heart will either stop or pound right out of my chest as my brain finally processes his words. “Me, too,” I say.
His gaze turns darker, dangerous. “Aw, fuck it.” He flips us over on the couch like I’m a doll, him on top now, and sheds his shirt before he starts working on his belt and fly. “Yes, or no?”
I don’t need a clarification—I know.
I know.
I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Goddess help me, I don’t have the will to say no, much less the desire to.
So I repeat the words from my fantasy because they’re as good as any, and they’re still fresh in my mind. “Please, I need this, and you. Only you. Do it.”
Brilliant triumph fills his face as he hooks his fingers in the front of my shirt, ripping it down the front and sending the buttons pinging off the coffee table next to us.
Ask me if I care?
#noidonotcare