Chapter 6 Kit
KIT
Damian said my name. No, wait. He moaned my name, breathed it in his sleep like a desperate prayer.
And not once. Oh no. Once I could have passed off as something else, the name of a girl, perhaps, Kat or Kate. Or even my own brain hearing what it wants in that blissful space between asleep and awake.
But no. There’s no doubt in my mind. He moaned my name.
More. Than. Once.
I’m always so careful in Damian’s bed, convinced that if he ever found my morning wood pointed in his direction, he’d stop me from sleeping over.
He might even stop touching me the way he does, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And that’s not acceptable. I live for those moments when his hand slips over my thigh in the car, or when he tucks a strand of my unruly hair behind my ear.
That’s why when I woke up pinned to the mattress by my stepbrother, our relationship flashed before my eyes.
I panicked, and that only got worse when Damian started sighing my name, chanting it over and over like I was the only thing keeping him afloat in whatever storm had flooded his dreams. Then, when his hips pressed into mine, I was out of there, rolling from the bed like a stealthy gymnast and stuffing my pillow beneath his arm before he could realise I was gone.
I’ve been lying in my room ever since, trying to get my thoughts in order for what feels like hours, scrambling for every conceivable reason that Damian might say my name in his sleep.
Perhaps he was having a nightmare where I was in danger or something?
Damian’s always been protective of me. Maybe that’s it?
Or maybe that’s not it at all, my heart whispers. Maybe Damian’s finally thinking of you how you think of him.
But he’s straight, my brain reminds us.
He said your name! My heart replies.
In the end, it’s my cock that wins the argument, sick of the dispute and just wanting to make good on the fantasy before all thoughts of Damian are rationalised away.
I palm my straining erection, focusing on my leaking tip until the dampness ruins my boxers.
Would Damian touch me like this? Would he appreciate how hard he makes me?
I trail my fingers down my length, barely touching my heated flesh as I skate over my taut balls and down to my sensitive hole.
Even through my underwear, the slightest hint of pressure has need and want pooling in my groin.
I tease myself through the thin material, imagining how Damian would touch me, the hesitant brush of his shaking fingers, the reverence of his worship.
Suddenly, I’m all too hot. I kick my duvet to the floor and tear my boxers down my thighs before I suffocate.
The need inside me boils over, delivering me close enough to that blissful cliff edge that I can already feel the waves of ecstasy roiling beneath my skin.
I wrap my hand around my hardness and squeeze tight, taking a few deep breaths that do nothing to stave off my impending orgasm.
As unlikely as it is, I want this to last. I want to relive the moment that Damian moaned my name over and over until it’s ingrained in my memory, imprinted on my soul. I never want to forget. Ever.
While I stroke my aching length, I suck two fingers into my mouth, savouring the pressure on my tongue and picturing Damian’s thick, heavy cock nudging the back of my throat.
Then, when my fingers are wet enough, I bring them to my crease and taunt my puckered entrance until my body sings in anticipation.
I might be a virgin, but there’s no question that I want to be penetrated.
Ever since I first discovered my prostate, I’ve been experimenting with ass play.
I even bought a little vibrating massager for those nights when Damian does something ridiculous, like walking around the house in nothing but sweatpants or falling asleep with his head pressed against my lap.
After a few circling passes, I enter myself with one impatient finger, and then another, relishing the burn as my body welcomes the stretch and yearns for more, more, more.
I want to come so badly that I’m trembling with the need for release. And I’m almost there, edged by thoughts of Damian buried deep inside me, thrusting mercilessly while he dominates my body and makes me his. But try as I might, I just can’t get myself over the finish line.
With a pained groan, I withdraw my fingers and throw open my bedside drawer.
I fumble around until my hand lands on the smooth silicone of my trusted dildo.
It’s only small, but for my unbreeched hole, it’s perfect.
I quickly swipe some lube over the cockhead, and with practised ease, guide it inside me, angling the toy towards that spot that will make me see stars.
I push, taking the length until the bulbous head is pressed perfectly against where I need it.
“Ahh,” I whimper, my hips lifting from the bed and my dick pulsing in ecstasy.
It only takes two firm strokes before I’m overcome by my release, and I’m screaming into my pillow. Long stripes of white paint my chest in the name of Damian. On and on it goes, my fist milking out every last drop of cum while my ass clutches at the unforgiving cock inside of me.
Then, when the last weakening pulse of my release ripples across my abs, I trace my fingers through the mess and submit to my favourite fantasy of all.
I taste what Damian’s done to me, rolling the bitterness over my tongue and humming around the essence on my fingers.
I’ve never tasted another man before. With Will, I always pulled away just before he finished in my mouth.
I guess some stubborn, romantic part of me was always holding out for Damian, even when the notion was utterly hopeless.
Dating Will was supposed to help me get over that. Fat lot of good he did. Look at me now, lying here covered in my own cum, satisfaction thrumming in my veins and a delicious ache in my ass. It’s taking everything in me not to march down to Damian’s room and throw myself at him for real.
But I can’t do that, because even as evidence to the contrary stacks against me, I’m not delusional.
I know in my heart that nothing has changed for Damian.
So, while every one of my horny brain cells is screaming at me to jump on his dick and find out if there’s a chance he’s not as straight as we thought, I can’t risk ruining the most perfect relationship in my life over something as stupid as a misinterpreted sigh.
Damian’s my everything, and I’m not giving that up.
But he could be more, my heart whispers.
No, no, I can’t think like that. I mean… not without proof, right? Irrefutable proof that Damian wants me too.
Irrefutable proof? My heart perks up. Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea. I mean, he did say my name in his sleep, after all. That has to mean something. But what? That he loves me like a brother? Or as something more?
I have to find out, or I’ll drive myself mad. I just need to figure out how to do it without jeopardising everything that matters to me in the process.