3. Walt
THREE
Walt
The locker room is quiet, a sanctuary of sorts, as I make my way to the showers, my body still humming with adrenaline from the fall. The hot water calls to me, a siren’s song promising temporary respite from the tension coiled tight within me.
I strip off my clothes, the fabric sticking to my sweat-slicked skin. The cool air is a harsh contrast, but it does nothing to diminish the heat coursing through my veins. I step under the spray, the water hitting my skin like a thousand tiny fingers, massaging the ache in my muscles. But it’s not enough to ease the throb in my balls, the insistent pulse that’s been my constant companion these past weeks.
I close my eyes, leaning my back against the cool tile. The steam rises, cocooning me in a hazy, surreal world where there’s only me and the driving need within. I let my hand drift down, wrapping my fingers around my cock. It jerks in response, eager for the touch I’ve been denying it.
In my mind, Malia stands before me, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes wide with anticipation. She’s naked, her body bared to me, waiting for my command. My cock twitches at the thought, growing harder, thicker, in my hand.
I begin to stroke, my grip firm, the way I like it.
“Touch yourself,” I tell her, my voice echoing in the empty shower. She complies, her hands cupping her breasts, her fingers rolling her nipples until they’re hard and peaked. I stroke faster, my cock responding to the sight of her pleasuring herself at my command.
The pulse in my balls intensifies to a steady throb that grows more insistent with each stroke. My cock responds, hardening further, the sensation bordering on pain, but it’s a sweet pain, one that promises pleasure beyond measure.
I can feel every vein, every ridge of my cock as I stroke, my hand moving faster, harder, in time with the thrusts I imagine feeding into her mouth. My grip tightens, and my imagination runs wild.
She’s on her knees, her hands tied behind her back, completely at my mercy. Desire burning in her eyes with a hunger that matches my own.
“Open your mouth,” I growl, and she does, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
I can almost feel the warmth of her breath, the softness of her mouth as I thrust into her, my cock hitting the back of her throat. My balls tighten.
I reach down with my other hand, cupping my balls. The pressure sends a jolt of pure ecstasy through me. I roll my nuts in my palm, my fingers gently tugging as I continue to stroke my cock. The dual sensations are overwhelming, pushing me closer to the edge.
Malia’s moans echo in my head, her body writhing as I fuck her mouth, my hands tangled in her hair, holding her still as I take what I want. Her surrender is like crack, sending me flying.
It drives me wild.
I stroke faster, my hips thrusting forward as I fuck my fist, the water cascading over me, heightening every sensation. My balls are tight, the ache almost unbearable, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m too far gone, lost in the fantasy, lost in the feel of my cock in my hand and the thought of Malia’s mouth on me.
“That’s it, baby,” I groan, my voice harsh and guttural. “Take it all. Take every inch of me.”
I can feel her swallowing around me, her throat convulsing as she takes me deep, and it’s too much. With a roar, I come, my cock pulsing in my hand as I shoot hot and hard against the tile. My body shudders, the orgasm ripping through me, leaving me weak and breathless.
I lean against the wall, my chest heaving, the water cooling as it washes away the evidence of my release. My cock is still hard, still throbbing with need, but the edge has been taken off, the desperation eased.
But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Not when it’s my hand bringing me pleasure. Not when it’s my fingers gripping my cock instead of hers. Not when it’s my voice echoing in the shower instead of her cries of surrender.
I wash quickly, my movements efficient. The lingering haze of pleasure fades with each passing second. As I step out of the shower, toweling off, it’s painfully clear this won’t be the last time I find myself seeking relief in the quiet solitude of the locker room.
Not as long as Malia’s in my head, her body a constant temptation, her submission a challenge I’m more than eager to take on.
Next time, I promise myself as I dress, pulling on my clothes with renewed determination. Next time, it won’t be just my hand. Next time, it will be her. Her mouth, her body, her surrender. I won’t stop until she’s mine, completely and utterly, in every way that counts.
I leave the shower, the locker room’s cool air hitting my skin, an abrupt change from the steamy warmth that still clings to me. My cock hangs thick and heavy between my legs, my erection spent but not entirely gone. The remnants of my desire still linger, a constant hum beneath my skin, a reminder of the need that’s become a part of me.
I wrap a towel around my waist, tucking it in securely, but it does little to hide the evidence of what I’ve been up to. As I approach my locker, voices echo down the hall.
Fuck me.
I’m no longer alone. I grimace, bracing myself for the inevitable ribbing I’m about to receive.
The door to the locker room swings open and in file my teammates—Ethan, Gabe, Hank, Rigel, and Blake. They laugh and joke, but the moment they see me, their grins widen, and their laughs take on a knowing edge.
“Well, well, well,” Ethan drawls, his eyes flicking to the bulge beneath my towel. “Looks like someone’s been having a little ‘alone time.’”
I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “Just needed to relieve some tension.” I open my locker and pull out my clothes.
Hank snorts. “Relieve tension? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Gabe chimes in, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You know, there are more interesting places to jerk off than the shower. Might want to explore your options.”
I flip him off, pulling on my boxers and jeans. “Fuck off. Not all of us are exhibitionists like you.”
“What can I say? Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about putting on a show. There’s something—intoxicating about having eyes on you while you’re at your most raw.” Gabe grins, unfazed. “I like an audience. There’s something about a chick watching me while I stroke myself that gets me going. Besides, you know what they say… ‘Picasso painted in public, so why not paint my masterpiece in a public place as well?’”
I shake my head, smirking. “You’re fucked up. And Hank over here is just as bad, with his voyeuristic tendencies.”
Hank chuckles, a low, suggestive sound. “Guilty as charged, but watching is just the warm-up. The real fun comes when I join in.”
Gabe’s grin widens, and he claps Hank on the back. “And that’s when things get truly—entertaining. You should see how we can make a woman fall apart at the seams. It’s a fucking masterpiece.”
Hank nods in agreement. “It’s a win-win situation. They get double the pleasure.”
I raise an eyebrow, zipping up my jeans. “You two are something else. I prefer my conquests one-on-one.”
“To each their own.” Hank laughs, a deep, throaty sound. “Your loss. If you ever change your mind, just say the word. We’ll introduce you to a world of pleasure you never knew existed.”
Gabe nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “The ladies always leave with a smile on their faces. Every. Single. Time.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I finish getting dressed. “I’m sure they do, guys. But for now, I’ll leave the group performances to you two. I’ve got enough on my plate with one woman.”
Hank and Gabe exchange a look, grinning like the devils they are. “Suit yourself,” Hank says. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
I smirk, pulling on my shirt. “I think I’ll survive. Now, if you two are done corrupting the locker room…”
Rigel leans against the locker next to mine. His arms crossed over his chest. “Seriously, man, you’ve got it bad. Why don’t you ask her out already?”
I slam my locker shut, the metallic clang echoing through the room. “It’s not that simple.”
Blake raises an eyebrow. “Sure it is. You ask, she says yes, you go out. It’s called a date, Walt. You’ve done it before.”
I glare at him. “Except the last time we tried to go on a date, it ended with a phone call about a dog getting shot and a kidnapping. Not exactly the romantic evening I had in mind.”
Ethan claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. “That was shitty timing, sure. But you can’t let that stop you. You’ve got to get back on the horse, man.”
Gabe smirks. “Or back on the girl, as the case may be.”
I shove him, but there’s no heat behind it. These guys are my brothers, my family. They might give me shit, but they also have my back, no matter what.
Hank steps forward, and his expression is serious for once. “Look, we all see the way you look at her. And we see how she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching. You two have something—you need to give it a chance.”
Rigel nods in agreement. “Exactly. And if you don’t ask her out soon, someone else might. You snooze, you lose, man.”
The thought of Malia with someone else sends a surge of jealousy coursing through me, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
“Over my dead body,” I growl.
Ethan grins. “That’s the spirit. Now go ask her out before you end up with carpal tunnel from all that ‘tension relieving.’”
I laugh, the tension in the room broken. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask her out, but if she says no, I swear to God, I’m blaming every single one of you assholes.”
Gabe claps me on the back. “That’s fair. But she won’t say no. Not to you.”
I hope he’s right. As I leave the locker room, their laughter echoes behind me.
I want Malia, and it’s time to do something about it. Time to take control and take what I want.
But first, I need to convince her to give me—give us—a chance. I pull out my phone, my thumbs flying over the screen as I type out a message.