Chapter 13 Freddie
FREDDIE
Me: Wrong number, sweetheart.
I stare at my response as I sit on my bed. My fleshlight rolls down toward my hand from where it’s perched on the bed. I push it aside. It’s still wet from its recent cleaning, but the touch alone reminds me of what I did earlier. Or who I thought of when I was milking my cock earlier.
I fight the urge to look at her picture—the picture I know wasn’t meant for me.
It had to be an accident, I know that. Whoever this was meant for, it’s not me. Not by a long shot.
I tell myself deleting the photo is the right thing to do.
I shouldn’t be looking at this, but yet…
I can’t tear my gaze away. Just like I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her and Rush this morning, curled together on the couch.
Underneath the blanket. Just like I couldn’t look away this afternoon when I saw her pick up those panties and that bra that she’s wearing in the damn photo.
That has to be a coincidence right? I mean, she didn’t send this to me just because I bought them for her…right?
The reality that I did, in fact, purchase those tight little pieces of fabric that only elevate her natural beauty is not lost on me.
And it only makes me want to spend more money on her.
I have the deepest urge to take her on a damn shopping spree just so I can look at her in all the things Daddy spoils his princess with.
Fuck. I haven’t referred to myself as Daddy in years.
After Vicki and I broke things off, I swore I would never use that moniker again. I was done with being Daddy, because I couldn’t be Daddy without my princess…without my good girl.
And Vicki soured that notion for me, which is why I spent a whole year hiring subs to placate those desires, but…it never worked. Not really.
Because Daddy isn’t just a role. It’s a state of mind. It’s a lifestyle, a state of being.
And I couldn’t operate in that state of mind as a heartbroken, damaged, single man without a woman who made me feel those things, without a person who could bring out that part of me, engage that part of me.
But the fact that I just thought about Nora—the fact that I just thought about spoiling her like Daddy’s good little girl deserves—is dangerous. On so many levels.
Maybe Rush isn’t the only one treading dangerous waters right now.
“It’s better this way,” I tell myself as my thumb hovers over the trash icon next to the message.
I get one last look at the image, but then another comes in. Only this time, it’s not a photo.
It’s a video.
Oh, fuck.
I shouldn’t watch it. I should delete this photo and the video without even giving it a second glance because that is what good men do.
But that’s the thing—I’m not a good man. Far from it.
I can’t help myself. Something inside of me finds it—finds her damn near irresistible.
Before I can stop myself, my finger slips and the damage is done.
I can’t tear my gaze away. The video is off-center, like the phone was knocked over, and I can see part of her hand, like she’s holding it.
But I don’t need to see her in the video to know what she looks like since I’ve got the image above, forever burned in my brain.
Her moans fill the space, and as if my cock wasn’t already hard enough as is, the sound of her frustrating groans and whines is like music to my ears.
Not only are those whines and cries submissive as hell, but she also sounds so strained and desperate for release.
I groan in defeat, my own personal torment swirling inside of me. My cock strains against my sweats, and I tell myself it’s wrong to feel like this. So fucking wrong.
But I also know how much I’ve missed this feeling. How much I’ve missed feeling desire. Attraction.
Powerlessness.
I grip my cock through my sweats as I close my eyes, trying to brace through the sounds of her breathless, aching moans. I feel the wet spot forming against my fingertips, and I whine in defeat because I know there’s no settling this. I have to let it happen. I have to come.
Even if I don’t want to.
It’s one thing to be aware of your kinks and another to be aware of your traumas. But being aware of how your trauma has turned into a kink?
That’s a whole other level of hell I don’t wish on anyone.
Because as guilty as I feel right now, I also like it. I like this feeling that Nora evokes in me.
“No,” I utter to myself. “No, please, I don’t want to come.”
I’m not sure if I’m telling imaginary Nora as she moans through the phone, or if I’m telling myself.
Maybe both. Though, I know she can’t hear me and she likely doesn’t even know that I’m seeing her like this. Hearing her like this.
Which makes what I’m doing so much worse.
I hate it.
But I fucking love it too.
I’ve always been the one in charge, the one in control when it comes to my relationships and my sex life. But Nora Brighton makes me feel out of control. Like I can’t grasp the reins as they slip through my fingers.
And something about that is as terrifying as it is hot as fuck.
I squeeze my cock through my sweats, trying to stave off the desire, but the pressure only makes my cock harder. I’m so fucking hard it hurts, and I force back tears because I want to come so fucking bad, but not like this.
I slide my hand in my pants, feeling the familiar solidness of my shaft. When I touch my slit, I feel the sticky, warm precum collected at the tip. I let go and shove my sweatpants and boxers down, positioning myself on my bed so I can relax on my back.
Even when I masturbate, I rarely do it like this.
Usually, I opt for one of my toys—usually my stroker since I can easily mount it and in a few thrusts I can find that release.
I’m so used to being on top in every way that matters, from the ice to the bedroom and everywhere in between, that even this feels terrifying.
In all the years I’ve dated and engaged with my subs, not once have I ever laid down like this—on my back with my cock in the air.
There’s a vulnerability to exposing myself like this. To giving myself up to someone to take control of, which is why I’ve never done it. I’ve never laid myself bare for a woman to take, because even when I was younger, I feared being taken advantage of. Being submissive…
I never trusted anyone enough.
Being the one on top…it was easier.
I had to dominate the ice if I wanted to make it to the AHL, which I did.
I had to be the one in charge when it came to my siblings, since Brett didn’t seem to want to be a big brother to either Russ or Tommy.
Hell, he barely acted like a brother to me, but I think our relationship was formed out of necessity for him.
And eventually, I just…fell into that role and it fit. But now…
Now as I lie here on my bed, comfortable with my hand over my cock as Nora’s moans fill the room, I can’t help but feel the same underlying concern that anyone could find me like this. That Nora could find me like this…
I let my mind wander to what she would do if she did find me. Like this. Listening to her with my hand around my cock, stroking myself to the sight of her, to her sweet moans.
My hips thrust of their own accord as my fingers slide through my precum.
Would she be offended? Call me a fucking perv?
Or would she see how hard she makes me and feel complimented?
Would she take one look at my dick and run away? Or would she wrap her long, lithe fingers around it and stroke me? Would she taste me with her tongue?
Straddle my hips and pin me beneath her?
The thoughts mixed with her moans is too much as I let my mind settle on that last one. The fantasy I know I shouldn’t dwell on, but that seems to permeate my brain lately.
Nora and those thick, pale thighs straddling me, my cock buried inside her. Her hands on my chest, holding me down as she rides me, as she takes what she wants from me.
“No, please,” I beg, my voice a whisper as my balls draw tight and I approach that ledge. “I’m going to come.” My voice is strained even to my own ears and I hate it. Hate how badly I want to come right now.
How I wish I could come inside her and not my fucking hand.
My entire body tenses as my mind latches onto that image—of my cock buried in her as I squirm beneath her hold, not wanting to give in, but wanting to give her everything I have.
“Come for me,” she whispers in my mind, rocking herself against my aching cock.
“Give me all your cum, Daddy.”
I cry out as my orgasm hits me out of nowhere, hard and fast. My toes curl and my shoulders hunch and that heady euphoria strikes.
And then the shame hits like a brick.
I tear my hand from my pulsing cock, nearly jumping straight up, and I rush to the bathroom, if only to clean myself up.
Part of me is worried I’ll run into Tommy since he’s home, and panic laces me.
I’m not known to waltz around this place naked or anything, so that in itself would be concerning, but I don’t have time to focus on that right now.
I wash my hands, letting the shame and guilt course through me.
What have I done?
I wash my hands and get a damp cloth to clean my cock before I head back to the bedroom to dress myself in clean clothes, and then I see the lit up screen on my phone.
Someone is calling me. I carefully approach it, worried that somehow she knows what I did.
Even though I know there’s no possible way…
Except when I look at the screen, I see it’s Rush calling, and I quickly answer.
My brother needs a ride from the club. And I need a distraction.
With my phone in my hand, I tap back into my thread with Nora and I delete the photo and the video without a second thought.
There. I did it.
Except, I know it doesn’t negate what I did, and likely I’ll never be able to forget those pieces of Nora. They’ll be burned into my brain for all eternity. I shove them away, deep down into the pit of despair within me.
I dress and head out to my Lexus, my lead foot getting me to my destination in less than ten minutes despite the fact that I told him I’d be there in ten.
When he gets in the car, I can tell something’s wrong, but I don’t press him.
If Rush wants to talk, he’ll talk. It’s best not to push him, even though I’m dying to talk about anything to avoid thinking about what I did.
But Rush says nothing. And so, I say nothing. All I can do is focus on the road and the festering ache in my chest.