10. Micah #2
I suck in a breath. My towel’s already loosening. Slipping. I let it fall open. My cock rests heavy against my thigh, already flushed and leaking.
I swipe my thumb across the screen.
Me: I don’t beg easy. You sure you’ve got what it takes to ruin me?
Three dots flash.
Then:
GoldenSpiral23: Try me. I want to wreck you. Leave you hoarse from saying my name and fucking your throat.
The groan that leaves me isn’t subtle.
I slide my hand around myself, slow at first. Controlled. Attempting to pretend I’m not this close to unraveling from words alone.
I type one-handed, breath caught somewhere between amusement and desperate need.
Me: I’m already hard. Stroking slowly. Just once, up and down. Pretending it’s your mouth.
Pause.
Me: Fuck. I’m pretending too hard. You’re making a mess of me, and we haven’t even met.
Another pause. Then I add:
Me: Got anything for me to look at? Because, right now, all I’ve got is a fist and filthy imagination.
I send it, heart thudding, cock twitching in my grip.
Waiting.
Needing.
Already picturing what kind of photo might come through next—something close, teasing, warm skin, and dark shadows.
Not Colton, I remind myself again.
Not him. Just a stranger who knows how to say exactly what I need to hear.
The reply buzzes in almost instantly.
GoldenSpiral23: You first. Show me what I’ve been imagining .
My breath catches. He’s bold today. Good. So am I.
I bite my lip, angle the shot carefully—just enough to tease, but not enough to give anything fully away. Skin flushed. Piercing catching the light. Tattoo curling along my hip. My hand at the base in a silent invitation.
Send .
The read receipt pops up seconds later.
No words.
Just a single emoji.
*Fire emoji*
And then?—
*Shocked emoji*
I grin.
Me: Speechless? Guess I am dangerous.
The typing bubble dances.
I stretch out on my bed, muscles still aching from practice, but that ache has nothing on the one curling low in my stomach now.
The messages light me up in all the worst (best) ways.
GoldenSpiral23: You’re trouble. The kind I want to get lost in.
I smirk, thumb flying across the screen before I can stop myself.
Me: Say that again. Slower this time. Maybe while I’m sucking your fingers into my mouth and pretending it’s something else.
Three dots. Then nothing. Then again—three dots.
Come on, shy boy. Give me something.
Finally:
GoldenSpiral23: I’d bury them deep in your mouth. Just to hear how pretty you sound with your lips full.
Holy fuck. My hips roll off of the mattress before I can stop them, pressure building fast.
Me: Don’t tease me unless you’re ready for the consequences.
GoldenSpiral23: What if I want them?
I suck in a breath.
This is getting dangerous. Delicious.
Me: Then get on your knees. Open wide. And don’t stop until I’m shaking.
GoldenSpiral23: Fuck. You’re going to ruin me.
Me: That’s the idea.
I bite down on my knuckle, trying not to groan out loud. My hand’s already there, sliding lower again, coaxing. I want to keep going, to keep teasing him until he begs, but my phone buzzes again.
GoldenSpiral23: Tell me what you’d do to me if I were there.
Oh, baby. You asked for it. My palm moves slow, teasing over my cock. I want this to last.
Me: First, I’d make you sit on the edge of the bed. No touching. Hands at your sides. Just me between your knees, licking you slow, like I’ve got all night. Because I do.
I hit send, watching the screen. I’m pushing it. But I want to. Need to. So I keep going.
Me: Then I’d pull back just when you start begging. Let you watch as I stroke my cock for you, close enough to taste. You wouldn’t even know where to look. Me? Or your own dripping cock twitching for attention?
I fist myself, lazy and slow, the mental image painted so clear it’s almost tangible.
Another message.
GoldenSpiral23: Jesus. I think I just whimpered out loud.
My grin is wicked now.
Me: Good. I wanna hear it next time.
That earns me a pause, longer than before.
GoldenSpiral23: Are you trying to kill me?
Me: Only if you die with my name on your lips.
Another message pops up, and this time, it slows my hand.
GoldenSpiral23: What’s your name?
My fingers hesitate. Not because I don’t want to tell him. Because I do. Too much.
But this is supposed to be anonymous. Safe. Easy. And that question? It feels like a crack in the wall I’ve built between this and everything else.
I let the silence stretch for a beat. Then I grin and type:
Me: That’s cute. But anonymous boys on the internet don’t get that kind of info.
Not yet.
Typing.
Pause.
GoldenSpiral23: Yet?
I bite my lip, roll onto my side, and send another message.
Me: Maybe I’ll whisper it in your ear. While you're on your knees. Or maybe I’ll make you guess. Every time I moan, you get one letter .
The typing bubble appears immediately.
I chuckle, tossing my phone onto my bed, stroking firmer, tugging on my piercing until pleasure radiates down my spine. Yeah, he’s hooked. Exactly how I wanted.
I flop back onto my back. My hips shift against the sheets, breath shallow as I wait for his next message, the pulse between my legs synced to the blinking typing bubble on the screen.
GoldenSpiral23: You’re gonna make me earn it, huh? That’s cruel.…And kinda hot.
I grin, letting my head drop back against the pillow. The praise shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but it does. It always does. Especially coming from someone who doesn’t know me, doesn’t see the broken pieces I keep trying to tape back together.
Just this version of me. Just SmokeScreen.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, already drafting a reply—something dirty, something that’ll make his breath catch in his throat—when my screen lights up with a different name.
Gavin. Up for a hook-up tonight?
I blink. The words yank me sideways, out of the fantasy and straight into the past forty-eight hours. His bed. His mouth. The way he passed out the second he got off, treating me like I was a warm body and nothing more.
Technically, I did sneak out without a word.
But still. My finger hovers over his message, not opening it. Not replying. Not tonight .
I flip back to the chat with GoldenSpiral, the ache still burning low in my stomach.
Me: Where you from, pretty boy?
I hit send, licking my bottom lip, waiting. Because I’m not going back to the past tonight.
I’m chasing something new—and maybe, just maybe, this anonymous guy with the filthy mouth and shy fingers is the one thing I still get to control.