Chapter 6
Chapter six
The Fever in My Cock
Dominic
When I returned to my basement apartment, I didn’t finish jacking off, but I did take a shower.
Cold water hammered my shoulders.
I tipped my head against the tile.
Mist ghosted around me even though I’d cranked the handle to blue. I needed the heat knocked out of my body, needed to rinse off the ache that had pressed me to the glass while Teyonah had cleaned up in the kitchen.
The ache that had me jacking off and her catching me.
What is wrong with me?
I thought about taking my cock in my hand again and quieting the pulse in my veins. But that felt like feeding the animal I’d been trying to cage.
Still, when I looked down at my cock, I couldn’t ignore it.
There it was—thick, long, flushed, and wet, curved hard against my abs, pulsing. It looked heavy and obscene.
The shaft was pale, streaked with heat-flush, veins snaking in swollen ridges as the spray slicked over my skin.
The head was brutally swollen, a deep pink that glistened, dripping a slow, shameless line of clear pre-cum that clung and dragged down the length before sliding off.
I have to figure out a solution. I have to fuck her. . .
I let out a breath through my teeth.
My cock twitched.
I thought about med school—about all the women who had circled me like hawks the second they realized I was six-four, built like I lived in the gym, and came from money.
Interns who pressed too close in the lab.
Residents who accidentally brushed their hands over my arm while asking for help with notes.
Girls who always murmured to me in the library that I should take a break and let them "relieve my stress."
They would’ve killed to be in this shower right now—on their knees in this steam, lips stretched around my cock, swallowing every drop of pre-cum the water didn’t wash away.
They would’ve moaned just from the thickness hitting the back of their throat, proud to choke on my length, begging for more.
But none of them were Teyonah.
None of them had her laugh that cracked me open, her curves that made me ache, her strength that made me want to worship her.
None of them could make my cock this hard without even touching me.
And that was the sickness of it—knowing I could have anyone, but wanting only her.
I clenched my jaw.
More cold water ran over me.
But. . .I do have to move on. She’s married. . .this is too complicated. . .and I don’t think she even sees me that way. . .I have to find another woman to distract me so I can stop thinking about her.
Yet, none of the other women around me mattered. They wanted my body because it was easy, because muscles and money were obvious.
But Teyonah saw me when no one else bothered to. She fed me breakfast like I belonged at her table. She handed me a sweater because she thought I might get sick. She gave me warmth I hadn’t felt since my parents died, and she didn’t even realize it.
Last week, she had ironed my shirt before my boards because she said I shouldn’t walk into something that important looking wrinkled.
Then, she straightened my tie before I left, tugging the knot into place with those sexy fingers.
She was so fucking close. She had a new perfume on that morning and it filled my lungs—lavender and honey.
I got so horny for her in that moment that I had to shove my fists in my pockets to hide how badly I wanted to touch her.
She probably thought she was just helping me look neat, but the gentle caress of her knuckles against my throat had my cock hard all day.
That was the difference.
The others wanted to fuck me.
Teyonah simply came by me, and I wanted to rip my chest open and hand her everything inside it.
My cock twitched again, jerking against the ladder of abs I’d carved from years of punishing discipline. The slap of it against hard muscle sounded vulgar in the tiled silence. It looked wrong—an untamed weapon jutting out of a body built for control.
I moved my gaze lower, down to where the thick shaft curved from root to tip and met my base.
My balls hung tight beneath, swollen from holding back, skin wet and taut from the shower spray. Each drop slid over them, rolling slow.
What am I going to do? God. . .I want to go upstairs and fuck her right now. She’s lucky J and Oliver are up there. If they weren’t, I would fucking take her.
This deranged lust vibrated through my body.
If this were a case study, the diagnosis would be terminal: obsessive desire. Symptoms—hard cock, racing pulse, mind hijacked by one curvy Black woman. And the only prescription would be her wet, warm pussy, taken daily, in every possible position.
Mmmm.
I wanted to grab my cock, but instead I cupped my balls, massaging the ache without granting myself relief.
The contact made my chest shudder.
What if Teyonah was here right now?
The thought ripped through me, raw and filthy, and I let it burn deep within my core.
I would not hold back.
I squeezed my balls harder, dragging the ache out until it climbed into my gut, until the heated pleasure tangled with a pain I welcomed.
Fuck.
My cock slapped against my abs again, dripping for what I wouldn’t give it.
I closed my eyes and imagined Teyonah walking into the steam—thick hips swaying in that tight skirt, blouse tugging across her breasts. I pictured her watching me stroke myself like she’d caught me red-handed in the backyard.
But instead of my leaving, I would stay and she would bite her lip, cheeks flushed, and moan my name like it hurt to hold it in.
I wanted her in this bathroom right now, to lay her back against this cold tile, spread her thick legs wide, and lick her pussy until she screamed—until her perfume was replaced with the taste of her dripping down my tongue.
I wanted to fist her curls in my hand, tug her head back, and shove my cock between her lips, watching those dark brown eyes water as I fed her inch after thick inch until her throat surrendered.
I wanted to bend her over the sink and watch the mirror fog while I fucked her reflection—her breasts bouncing, her hands gripping porcelain, her mouth falling open when I slammed her full.
Christ.
Even her exhaustion turned me on—the thought of her stumbling into my arms after a ten-hour day, heels kicked aside, skirt bunched up, letting me carry her to my bed and wreck her until she forgot every burden.
I can’t keep doing this. I have to give myself relief.
My balls ached under my palm, swollen and heavy.
Cold water couldn’t break the fever over her. I wasn’t sick from stress or exhaustion—I was sick from craving her body.
Teyonah was the disease and the cure, the infection in my blood and the only medicine strong enough to save me.
My fantasies were hotter than any steam, filthier than any sin.
Oh, Teyonah.
I cupped my balls harder, rolling the swollen weight slow in my palm, dragging a groan from my chest. The ache shot up my spine, fire tangled with pain. It wasn’t release, but it was close enough to taste.
Teyonah. . .
A breath hissed out between my teeth. My thighs flexed, cut with muscle, drops of water sliding down over them, over the curve of my calves, everything tight, everything straining.
My body was a weapon, every inch trained to perform, but right now all of it bent around one weakness—my cock, standing like it wanted to tear free.
Now. . .every drop of water that ran down my shaft felt like her tongue should’ve been there instead, circling, teasing, worshiping until I shattered.
My hand shivered.
I wanted to wrap it around the base, squeeze, and stroke until the veins throbbed harder.
But I forced my fingers into a fist.
My knuckles whitened.
If I touched myself now, it wouldn’t just be about release.
It would be her. Her laugh, her curves, her lips parting beneath mine. I’d be fucking her through my own grip, and that was the line I couldn’t let myself cross.
Not yet.
It would be cruel to pretend I had her, when I didn’t.
But God—staring at my cock, hard and dripping, the angry head weeping against the hard plane of my stomach, muscles tense all around it—I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this beast caged.
This obsession over Teyonah wasn’t safe. I knew it, felt it coil tighter every day. I wasn’t just watching her anymore. I was circling, waiting, teeth bared. If I slipped, if I gave in, I wouldn’t stop. I’d consume her.
I dragged in a ragged breath, the spray pounding my shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to drown the thoughts twisting through me.
What if I called her down here?
Just one text: “Teyonah, something’s broken in the apartment. Can you take a look?”
She would come—because she’s a kind landlady.
In fact. . .she would probably come down in her pajamas, hair tied up, curves soft from the end of the day.
And the second she stepped inside, I’d close the door, lock it, and the sound of that click would be the end of civilized rules.
I could already see it—her back against the wall, eyes wide, lips parting as I loomed close. She’d gasp my name, half a protest, half a plea, and I’d shut her up with my mouth crashing over hers, my hands tearing at her pajamas.
I’d fuck her against the cold cement wall until she forgot her own name, until the only thing echoing in this basement was her moans.
A low groan clawed out of me, chest heaving.
I gripped the tile just to steady myself.
Thank God there was no other man competing for her love in the picture. Her husband Scott was trying, but I had a present for her to get the lawyer she needed to end their marriage.
Hopefully, he would leave it at that.
Because if not. . .I would cut him out like rot.
A clean excision.
That’s what surgeons do—remove the disease before it spreads. And the very thought of her laughing with another man made my scalpel hand itch.
Deranged.
That’s what this was.
A sickness in my blood.
But my mind wouldn’t stop.