Chapter 23
Megan
Jameson’s ass flexes as he ruts his swollen cock into his fist, and a choked groan of pleasure escapes his throat as he ejaculates.
A thick rope of semen lashes the air, then another, splattering the mirror, the sink. He chokes back soft, pleasured grunts, milking himself with long, luscious pulls that make his tense, muscled arm shake.
His eyes remain closed.
His hand slows, squeezing out another spurt of cream and the accompanying grunt of pleasure. Then a few more strokes, slower now, as a shudder runs through his body.
His muscled ass finally relaxes, and the taut muscles along his arm do, too.
He huffs out a breath and releases his cock, a gruff, masculine sound of satisfaction. His cock bobs heavily, still swollen and half-hard as he leans, pressing his hands to the sink. He’s breathing hard, his head pitched forward.
I don’t dare move or make a sound as I stare.
He’s so beautiful. Perfect. His muscled body moist with sweat, his cock heavy, sated, a sticky coating of semen gleaming wetly on the flushed crown.
I want to suckle it. Lick up every drop.
A man like that should be taken care of, every drop of semen savored, not wasted.
But it’s hot as hell that his ejaculate is all over the sink and mirror, all over his body. It’s primal.
He chose a place where he thought he was alone and wouldn’t bother me. He could’ve used something, come into a tissue or his hand. But because he’s alpha, he just stood there naked and let himself shoot freely, releasing all over what’s in front of him.
My lips are swollen; I’ve been rubbing them with my teeth, and I drag my tongue across them. I breathe as quietly as I can, soft, fast, shallow breaths.
My panties are soaked.
It’s so hard to tear my attention away, but I’m terrified he’ll see me.
I need to go.
I turn and hurry back to the bed, my pulse flying. I would’ve died if he caught me there, watching him.
And yet nothing could’ve torn me away while I watched, soaking up every pleasured breath, every twitch of his muscles, every pulse of his cock.
That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, by miles.
My core pulses with need, but I slip back into bed before it occurs to me that maybe I should go into my own bathroom and make myself come.
My pulse thuds loudly through my body, and I hear nothing from his bathroom. I’m afraid to move. To have him return to find me gone, to know that I’m up.
And even more afraid that if I try to slip out of the bed, he’ll walk in right at that moment, and I’ll have to face him.
So I remain still, lying under the covers on my side of the bed with my heart thumping.
Long minutes pass while I barely breathe.
The ache between my legs only grows worse as everything I just witnessed replays, again and again. I see him in my mind, naked, so expertly pleasuring himself, bringing himself to orgasm.
I can hardly believe I watched him come.
And if I don’t stop thinking about it, this is going to be a very long and painful sleepless night.
I hear the soft padding of his feet on the smooth floor, and I know he’s trying to be quiet as he slips back into the room. I don’t dare peek to see if he’s still naked.
He moves slowly, carefully into the bed, obviously trying not to disturb me.
I wait, breathless, until he settles.
Then I wait some more.
The entire time, my clit throbs. My pussy is swollen and wet.
There’s no way I can sleep like this.
Carefully, my fingers steal to my clit and stroke through the thin cotton of my panties, unable to stop themselves. Just trying to ease the ache.
But it’s not enough.
My other hand steals quietly to the rescue and tugs down my panties, baring my clit for my trembling fingers.
As my fingertips drift over my clit, a featherlight touch is all I dare.
But I must make a sound or something.
His low, rough whisper makes me freeze. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I whisper back. My voice is thick with desire, but it probably sounds sleepy.
“Sorry if I woke you,” he breathes.
“Mm.”
The covers slide over me as he shifts, relaxing into the bed with a soft, rugged sigh, and the fabric brushes my clit, sending tingles of pleasure and awareness through my body. He touched the fabric, which touched me, and it’s enough to send me tumbling down the rabbit hole.
There’s no way I can resist this.
My fingers drift over my clit, the swollen softness and the sensitive bud within. I tease it with my fingertips, tentatively, gently, making no noise or movement that disturbs the bed or the covers.
My core, deep inside, clenches in response.
I’m going to come. I need to. Badly.
I need relief from this terrible, throbbing ache, and I can do it quickly, quietly.
I’ve learned how.
In bed, next to Troy, in those long, dark periods when he refused to touch me. When he shut me out.
Don’t think about him.
I picture Jameson vividly. I see his cock in his hand, so distinctly his. Long, thick, virile. Straining with arousal, with the need to come. Precome beading wetly on the lush head, his balls swollen and full, more than ready to fill a girl to overflowing.
I imagine him guiding himself toward my opening and then the flex of those strong hips, the clench of that muscular ass, as he shoves himself deep inside me. The heat of him and the weight. His heavy balls slapping wetly against my drenched, dripping pussy.
That wonderful, pleasured grunt of his when he discovers how wet for him I am…
I lock my hips tight as pleasure explodes between my legs. I hold my breath and I’m flying. I’m coming silently in the bed, right next to him, my body outwardly still while my core clenches with deep, shuddering spasms, one after another… the muscles inside me clutching, wanting the fullness of his rigid cock… my intense emptiness aching right through the pleasure.
I think of how he came, those luscious jets of semen.
I imagine him emptying himself inside me like that, in long, hot pulses that make him shake.
Would he grunt with each spurt like he did in the bathroom, restrained, fighting the ecstasy?
Or would he let go, releasing with a full-throated growl, shouting his pleasure, purring my name?
As I tease my clit through the contractions that rack my core and leave my panties a slick, drenched mess, I don’t dare make a sound.
I don’t move or jerk the bed. I don’t disturb him.
I don’t let on that I’m coming long and hard, my head spinning with pleasure, right next to him.
After I’ve teased out every twinge of pleasure I can with featherlight caresses, I slip my panties into place and push my nightshirt down. I roll onto my side, away from him, to cover the movement.
But my heart pounds so hard, I’m afraid he’ll feel the bed trembling with the force of it, and know how badly I want him.