Page 67 of Unspoken Rules

“Yes,” I breathe out, watching his hand that’s moving further up his toned stomach. Once his shirt is up, he tugs it off and drops it to the floor, sliding his hands back down his torso and settling on his jeans to undo the button and zipper. My heart pounds harder. He shoves his pants down just enough to show me his leaking cock.

“I thought—” I stop suddenly, wanting to say I thought we were keeping things fair. And if I get him off again, it won’t be fair. Which will be another excuse for him to come back to me. But we can’t do this. Didn’t we say that? Didn’t we just agree it would be better for us to not do this? Why can’t we stop?

He strokes his dick slowly, his head resting back against the wall. “Just watch,” he rasps out.

“You want me to watch?” my words are barely above a whisper.

He brings his hand to his mouth and spits in it, then spreads his saliva around his dick to stroke faster. I’m already hard again.

The way Cole looks right now? I don’t think he’s ever looked better. Still dirty from work. Shirtless. Tight, ripped jeans. Aching cock. The desperate look on his face.

This man is sinfully beautiful.

“To keep it fair,” he says huskily.

I can’t help myself from running my gaze over his body and nodding. The way his arms flex as he strokes the full length of himself. The way his eyes are half closed, blazing with heat. His lips part and his breathing grows heavy.

I couldn’t move if I wanted to. If this house was on fire, I couldn’t turn away. I’m fixated. Mesmerized. Absolutely entranced by this man.

Watching him is hell. It’s torture. Right now, and for future me when I’m lying in bed alone recalling it. This is another thing about Cole I will never forget. This moment right here, as he gets himself off.

I want to touch him. Want to take over, either with my hand or my mouth. Whatever he wants. But he said to watch. So I watch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, holding my gaze. I watch in awe as he works himself over, every inch of my body on fire as I watch Cole Harper get himself off.

It’s all so much. The emotion. The need. The image. I close my eyes and take a breath.

“Watch me,” he barks. I flick my eyes open, my hands tightening on the sink. “I want you to watch me come.”

I really want to watch that too.

“You’re hard again,” he says smugly.

I can’t find words. Can’t acknowledge how I’m feeling because I’m so taken by the man in front of me. Getting off for me. To me.

To. Me.

How is this man interested in me at all?

“I am,” I finally mutter, darting my tongue out to lick my lips. They’re dry, but I’m salivating. The thought of getting on my knees for him again has me drooling. I like pleasing this man. Like making him proud of me, even if it’s only by sucking his dick. It’s something I do right, and I do it well. Well enough that he calls me a good boy.

I like when he calls me a good boy.

I like any praise from him.

“Come here,” he rasps out.

“Wh-what?”

“Come. Here,” he grits out and I step forward until he says, “Stop.” There’s less than a foot of space between us. Inches. “Hold your dick, Bryson.” I grab it, not sure what he wants me to do, but I don’t make him say it again. “Closer.” I step closer until the tips of our dicks are almost touching. “I’m going to come all over your cock, and you’re going to jerk off with it.”

Fucking what now?

“I am?”

“Fuck yes you are.” He’s panting, teeth clenched. “Get ready, baby.” He groans low and long, and my wide eyes are on his cock as he comes, flooding all over my dick. I throb in my hand, his cum hot and sticky.

“Do it,” he says, leaning against the wall as he catches his breath. “I want to see you come again.”

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