Chapter Twelve #3
Except, Ryder doesn’t know how often I’ve thought of him. He doesn’t know how many nights I laid in bed, wondering how his lips or his tongue would taste. He has no clue how many times I’ve imagined those plump lips and all the things I want to do to his tempting mouth.
My cock hardens, and I try my best to ignore it. Instead, I focus on washing my hair, then my body.
But it doesn’t help, because my mind betrays me like it always does, and I tell myself just a little stroke won’t hurt. Something to take the edge off.
Just enough to breathe…
I wrap my hand around my cock and close my eyes, guilt and shame swirling inside of me as relief blooms in my muscles. My thumb slides over my swollen cockhead, slipping through a mixture of warm water and sticky precum.
Which makes me think of Ryder and his hard cock beneath me, his rigid thrusts as he tried to be good.
Tell me to come and I’ll do it.
Those words reverberate in my skull, ricocheting like a kamikaze bullet.
“Oh, fuck…” I growl, caught between pleasure and pain once more.
My free hand finds my lips, tracing them in earnest. I let my mind wander to the memory of my thumb pressed over that pouty bottom lip of his. His tongue grazing the edge like a tempting siren.
I should stop here. I really should.
But as I slide my thumb in deeper to my mouth, imagining my tongue is his, I find an unrelenting need to disobey my own rules.
Which is something I’ve never done.
I like rules. There’s a comfort in knowing a limit exists, that there are lines that can not and will not be crossed. I think that’s what drew me to this lifestyle so many years ago. Knowing I could connect to people in this way, even if it didn’t make sense to others was like a balm to my soul.
It was never about the sex.
It was about devotion and order, and unwavering permanency.
Rules are not meant to be broken any more than wild animals are meant to be caged.
And yet here I am, one hand stroking my cock, with my fingers in my mouth, chasing pleasure that no longer belongs to me like a tiger chases a rabbit through the brush.
I slide my fingers out of my mouth, letting them traipse down across my solid chest as my head falls back and I give in to this new desire, this unfathomable need.
For it’s not permission I need.
It’s forgiveness.
“Tell me to come and I’ll do it,” I mutter aloud, tasting the words on my tongue like hot caramel.
There is no sound but that of the dripping water, of my heavy breathing.
“Tell me to come and I’ll do it!” I cry, my balls tightening as the thread spins tighter; faster and faster.
I ball my fist and hit the tile. Hard enough that it sends a sharp pain through me like a lightning bolt. My fingers and hand shake as a loud, frustrated growl escapes me; echoing amidst the water and my racing heart.
“Come for me,” a voice whispers, like the devil on my shoulder urging me to sin. “Come for me, Kane.”
I swear with my eyes closed, even as I imagine his voice, his solid body behind me, pressing me into the tile, it’s like he’s really here.
I can almost feel his breath on my skin, his soft touch along my hand, guiding me.
“Be a good boy for me.”
I come hard and fast, nearly falling forward from the sudden rush.
My head feels hazy; the room spins.
I feel everything and nothing all at the same time.
The waves of pleasure are sharp; brutal and unrelenting. I watch as my cum paints the tile, watch as it drips down slowly, like time itself doesn’t exist.
The euphoria is palpable and my shoulders relax as I suck in a breath and ride the wave of my orgasm, which feels like it goes on forever.
And then, as I drain the remnants of my arousal from my softening cock, the truth hits me.
I came.
I fucking came, thinking about him.
Panic and anxiety rise up, and my breath catches as the floodgates open; letting out all the ghosts I’ve worked so hard to bury.
I don’t know how long I stay there, kneeling on the floor with my head hung low; waiting for something that doesn’t exist.
For someone to tell me it’s alright. For someone to reach out and run their fingers through my hair and tell me precisely what to do.
To tell me that I’m not the monster I feel like I am at this very moment.
But there is no one.
I close my eyes and shake my head before I rise and turn off the water. I step out of the shower and grab a towel, drying off my hair and beard first and then I tie the towel around my waist.
When I get to my bed, I drop my clothes into the hamper, and set my phone down on the charger. I find a clean pair of underwear and get dressed quickly and get in bed. The light from the phone calls me like a beacon.
A soft meow pulls my attention, and I look to see Pumpkin looking up at me from the side of my bed with big, innocent eyes.
“What do you want, heathen?” I grumble.
Pumpkin only meows, his tail flicking up and down, and I sigh.
With one hand I scoop him up and plop him down on the pillow I never use, and then I turn out the light. I turn to face him, even though I can’t see him because it’s dark. I hear his purrs, and I know he’s asleep.
I reach one finger out and carefully stroke his fur.
“Good idea, Pumpkin,” I say as exhaustion hits me, and I submit to the darkness once more.