Page 101 of Felix

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Yeah, okay. Soon.”

“Soon,” he agrees, letting me go.

We get into the car, and for the second time in so many days, we head back home together. Desperate for a way to keep my mind occupied while we drive, I throw out the first topic that comes to mind.

“Christian? Do you ever want to bottom? Not that I need you to,” I’m quick to add. “But I know you’re an exclusive top for the studio, and I just realized I never asked if you have a different preference for your personal life.”

Christian hums, the sound low. “It’s not something I’ve ever enjoyed. Would that be a problem? If I never bottomed?”

“No,” I answer immediately, glancing his way. “If you ever want to try, just let me know. But… No, Christian. I like what we have. I don’t need that from you.”

He offers me a grateful smile.

“Besides,” I say, clearing my throat, “it’s probably for the best. I can be a little greedy when it comes to your cock.”

“Is that so?” he says, smirking now. “I had no idea.”

“Shut up,” I grumble.

He snorts a laugh, and I can’t help but smile to myself.

After we park, Christian heads over to his place to grab a change of clothes. I check on the crabs, putting some fresh grapes and broccoli in their terrarium because, “It’s good for you, Arthur and friend. Don’t argue.” They don’t, but Arthur steers clear of the green stuff.

With that done, I take a shower, making sure to wash myself thoroughly. Christian still hasn’t arrived by the time I’m done, so I flop onto my bed to wait.

My phone pings with a text.

Christian: Looking good, Specs.

I bolt upright, my pulse firing as I look out the window. Christian is in his bedroom next door. Another text comes through.

Christian: Take off your pants for me?

Holy fuck.

The request, near-demand, Christian made earlier comes racing back to me. He wanted me to show off for him. He wanted to watch.

I had no clue he meant like this.

How is this man so perfect for me?

Hands shaking, I fumble with my fly. It seems to take forever, but finally, I get my pants down and kick them off the end of the bed. My socks follow.

Christian: You’re gorgeous, Specs. Every inch of you. Touch yourself for me. Show me how much your cock is aching for it.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, setting down my phone and lying back. I slip my shirt partway up my stomach and let my hand trail down my abdomen. It feels as if Christian is right in the room with me, gaze hot and assessing. But he’s not. He’s across the alleyway, just like he was when we first met—when I fucked myself for him after getting that letter, not knowing who my mystery voyeur was, not even caring.

I care now. Because knowing it’s Christian watching me, wanting me for exactly who I am? It’s better than any thrill of the unknown.

I let out a breath as I slide my fingers underneath the band of my briefs, brushing the tip of my cock. He said to go slow, so slowly, I maneuver the fabric down below my cockhead, giving him only a peek. The band keeps my dick in place, and I stretch a hand over my head as my other rests on my lower abdomen, thumb running a slow circuit over my slit.

My phone pings.

Christian: Sexy fucking tease. Could you come like that, rubbing just the tip of your cock and your nipples?

Fucking hell. Probably, yes. But there’s something else I want.

I reply with one hand, my other still toying with my dick.

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