Chapter 5
I hear someone behind me as I’m digging through the fridge for a beer, and know instinctively that it’s Blake.
“I have to say, you held out longer than I thought you would,” he says wryly.
I slam the fridge closed and grab the bottle opener magnet from the door. “Could she possibly be any happier about the divorce?” I mutter as I snap the cap off my beer. “Single life suits you…sow your wild oats… It’s as though she’s been praying for this day since Valerie and I got married.”
The decision to split was a pretty amicable one, and while the grief stage was unavoidable for both of us, it didn’t last all that long.
We’re still really great friends, we still love each other; we just happened to grow in different directions over the past twenty years and didn’t notice it happening until the kids were older and spending more time away from the house.
But just because I’m not a basket-case about the divorce doesn’t mean I need to hear my mother gushing about how great my life is now. I don’t regret my marriage despite how it ended; Valerie and I had a lot of really happy years together and two amazing kids. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
“She’s just happy you’re here,” Blake says reasonably. “She’s missed you.”
I let out a derisive laugh and take a sip of my beer.
“Oh, yeah. She’s definitely missed me—that must account for the zero times she’s visited me in the twenty-four years since she decided to take off without a word while I was away for the summer.
But it’s cool ‘cause I didn’t need further mothering anyway.
” I punctuate the sardonic spiel with a tired sigh, shaking my head.
“Look, I know you just want everyone to get along and be a big, happy family and shit, and I promise I’ll try my best on days like today… but that’s about my limit.”
Blake’s expression is full of regret and disappointment; and I know I’ve let him down, which makes me feel even shittier than I already did.
“I understand your resentment, Damon. I just really don’t want you to let that stop you from building an actual relationship with her. You’re both in the same city now—”
I cut him off with a scoff. “Sure, we’re both here now.
But how long do you think that’ll last? Why the fuck would I even bother when odds are she’s just going to flake again?
” I swallow the last swig of my beer and stride over to the recycling to toss the bottle.
“But who knows? Maybe if I ever get married again she might deign to leave whatever wellness retreat-tantric sex lodge-peyote crack circle thing she’s at and actually put in an appearance.
We can do some awesome mother-son bonding then. ”
Blake sighs. “D—”
I shake my head and hold a palm up as I back toward the door that leads into the hallway. “I just need a breather. I’ll be fine for dinner.”
Fuck, I need a distraction. I need to just not think about my mom and Blake and the past twenty-four years and the churning resentment I could have sworn I’d already let go of.
As I’m waiting for the elevator I tug my phone from my pocket, and before I can think better of it I tap out a text.
Me
Distract me
He must have his phone in his hand because a response comes through almost immediately.
Jazz Grimsay
Well this is a surprise dirty boy
It’s ridiculous how much of the tension eases out of me at the sight of that stupid nickname. God, I’m seriously pathetic.
Jazz Grimsay
How should I distract you? Funny YouTube videos? Seemingly useless trivia? Scrabble?
Damn it. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Still, even if he’s reluctant to give me what I really want, that doesn’t mean he won’t serve my purposes; if there’s anything that can distract me from my complicated relationship with my mother it’s the mess that is my sex life.
With that in mind, I send a text that I know Jazz won’t be able to brush aside and jab impatiently at the button for the elevator.
“Where did Damon go?” I hear Sunny ask from the kitchen.
“Somewhere to cool off,” Blake replies gruffly. “High Line probably.”
The elevator finally arrives and I step toward the open doors. But then I hear Blake’s next words and they cause me to move closer to the kitchen instead.
“You really need to quit resenting Valerie. It’s not her fault Damon stayed in Detroit.”
What the fuck…?
“I know that,” Sunny says defensively. “I didn’t say a word about Valerie.”
“No, the backflips you were doing about the divorce said it all for you,” Blake grumbles.
There’s a moment of quiet, then Sunny says softly, “I had no idea he was still so angry.”
I wince in regret at the words, letting my eyes fall closed. I really didn’t mean for her to hear all the scorn I just unleashed. Fuck, I hope the twins didn’t hear any of it. Or Jamie. The last thing I want is to jeopardize their relationship with their grandmother.
“He’s not angry,” Blake tells her. “He’s…disillusioned. That’s not something that goes away with time, and I bet it doesn’t help that he’s a father now with kids the same age he was…”
Sunny says something too softly for me to hear, but it must have been something significant because all the gruffness leaves Blake’s tone as he says, “I know that, Mom. But unless you tell him the truth, this is what you’re stuck with.”
“No!” The word is spoken like a whip crack in a tone sharper and more forceful than I’ve ever heard Sunny use. The surprise of hearing it after the previous murmured exchange almost makes me stumble backward.
“Alright.” Blake sighs, sounding thoroughly exhausted. “Then this is what you’re stuck with.”
My head is fucking spinning. Nothing they’re saying makes any sense at all, and I’m so tempted to just burst in there and demand they tell me what the fuck is going on. But Sunny’s adamant command is still ringing in my ears and I know there’s not a chance in hell I’ll be getting any answers today.
I startle once again when my phone buzzes in my hand. I’d completely forgotten about the text exchange with Jazz.
Me
Why do I want you to come on me? That’s fucking weird right?
Jazz Grimsay
It doesn’t make you gay if that’s what you’re worried about
I blink in surprise at the response, all thoughts of the conversation in the kitchen emptying from my mind.
That’s not something I was concerned about, which is perhaps why the reassurance was so unexpected.
I’d been anticipating—or maybe hoping for—a taunt of some kind.
Failing that, an actual explanation would be great.
The elevator doors open again and I step inside, shooting back a reply as I head up to my suite.
Me
I know I’m not gay. That’s what makes it so weird. Why the fuck do I want to be covered in another guy’s cum?
Jazz Grimsay
Is this about last night? My guess is you responded to a very degrading scenario. I could have suggested pouring a root beer float all over you and you probably would have been just as turned on
Now in my room, I lean my forehead against the wall, unable to hold back a groan as I imagine Jazz shoving me to my knees and covering me in a sticky, sugary, freezing cold mess.
My cock throbs painfully and I reach down to rub my palm over the front of my jeans, groaning at the incredible friction. On impulse I snap a picture of my jeans-covered erection and send it to Jazz.
Me
You might be onto something
[Photo]
For a moment, I feel a sense of relief; I’m still not exactly over the moon to be turned on by something so gross and demeaning, but it’s better than another guy’s cum…right?
But then a thought hits me; this cum thing isn’t just about last night.
I’ve been curious ever since Jazz so casually threw it out there while brazenly invading my privacy last Friday; and if I’m being really honest with myself, it was the thought of him shooting his load all over me that got me to my climax.
Jazz Grimsay
Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Me
I’ll be happy after you help me get off
His response is uncharacteristically slow in coming and as my impatience gets the better of me I slump onto the sofa and start to grind my palm more insistently against my raging erection.
I hear Jazz’s words from last night echo in my head…
“you want me to make you come like this and send you home with a wet spot for everyone to see…” and I can’t help whimpering in desperate, burning need because fuck I want that so badly.
Hot shame burns through me as I imagine sitting down to dinner later still messy from my orgasm. Obviously I’d never actually do something like that, but the fucked-up fantasy has twisting, mortifying arousal blazing through me all the same.
Thankfully my phone buzzes before I can reach my climax, a fresh wave of shame and mortification hitting me as I claw my way out of the pit of depravity and back into the real world.
Fuck, I’m not sure I’d have been able to look anyone in the eye at dinner if I’d actually gotten off to that fantasy.
Jazz Grimsay
I’ll be glad to help once you come to terms with everything
I groan in frustration, my head falling back against the top of the sofa. How the hell am I supposed to come to terms with twisted fantasies like that?
My annoyance only grows when I remember what turned me on in the first place. I was fine until he mentioned the thing about the root beer float.
Me
That’s hardly fair seeing as how my current situation is all your fault
Jazz Grimsay
I can’t be held responsible for boners you spring during normal conversation. If I tried to censor myself to avoid turning you on I’d never be able to speak
My cock pulses and I flush with heat, instantly proving the accuracy of his words.
Despite the rejection I’m not ready to give up just yet; the tension from earlier has seeped in again, compounded by my current state of frustration and the unavoidable sense of shame that’s taken root in the pit of my stomach.
It would have been one thing to duck out for a run like Blake suggested, but when the fuck did I become the kind of person who takes time away from my kids to send dick pics—albeit a rather PG-13 one—to my boss and fantasize about filthy, degrading, fucked-up shit?
My head is a freakin’ mess and I need…something. I can’t explain it; there’s just some instinct telling me Jazz can help.
Me
Please? I really need this
Based on his previous texts I’m expecting a quip about me taking care of things myself, so I’m surprised when my phone starts buzzing with a FaceTime call. I’m even more surprised when I answer to find Jazz jogging, his pale face flushed and dark hair damp with sweat.
“What’s going on?” he asks by way of greeting.
I just stare at the screen for a moment, still trying to reconcile the picture in front of me with the recent text exchange. “Are you jogging right now?”
“Yeah, I’m at the gym.”
I frown in confusion. “How were you texting if you’re in the middle of a workout?”
He lets out a wry chuckle. “I’m an excellent multi-tasker. Now answer the question. What’s up with you?”
The corner of my mouth curves up. “You know what’s up with me. I sent you a picture.”
Deciding to take the opportunity that’s been presented to me, I reach down to unfasten my fly and delve my hand inside my jeans. My eyes flutter closed and a soft gasp escapes my lips as my hand wraps around my throbbing cock.
I know I’m shamelessly baiting Jazz but I don’t care. I need this. I need him to taunt me and insult me and tell me what a dirty, desperate whore I am.
I make no attempt to rein in my moans of pleasure as I stroke myself harder, humiliation burning hotter with every second that passes with Jazz remaining silent.
I know he’s still there; I can hear the gym noises in the background of the call and his steady breathing as he continues what I’m assuming is a warm-down jog.
His seeming indifference just makes me even more desperate and before I can think better of it, I shift the angle of my phone to give Jazz a perfect view of my fist gliding over my hard, pulsing dick.