Page 45 of Racing Hearts

Alek: Are you touching yourself, rich boy?

My heart stops. How did he know?

Alek: Show me. I want to see.

I snap a picture of my hands in my cargos, and my phone rings. I lift it with a shaky hand and answer.

“Hello?” I whisper, my voice rough.

“Don’t speak. Let me hear you touch yourself, rich boy. Let me hear you come.”

“I—”

“Now,” he demands, his voice sharp and hard. He sounds so angry, but it’s so fucking hot.

My hand tightens around my cock as I stroke myself, wishing it were him, and the thought of his hand touching me like this has me softly moaning his name.

“Shit, rich boy,” he murmurs. “My name sounds so fucking good on your lips. Do it again.” I hear rustling, and his breathing picks up. The idea of him touching himself where someone could find him, so hot for me he can’t stop, turns me on.

My eyes close as I widen my legs, stroking harder, moaning his name again.

“That’s it, pretty boy,” he growls. “How hard are you right now?” When I just pant, his voice comes stronger. “Tell me.”

“Hard, so hard,” I whine, uncaring who hears. I need to come too badly. I’ve needed to since the first time we kissed, and our make out session in his car the other day didn’t help. I’m on edge, and I’ve barely touched myself. “I need to come.”

“Me too, pretty boy.” He groans into my ear. “Fuck, getting you like this is all I think about. Every time I close my eyes, I see those pretty lips and wish they were wrapped around my cock like my fist is right now.”

A groan slips free as my back hits the stall, my balls drawing up in pleasure.

“That’s it, pretty boy. I can tell you’re close. It’s in your breathing. You’re doing so well. Keep quiet and make yourself come for me. Imagine it’s my hand touching you, my lips kissing down your abs and bruising those pretty lips. Be a good boy and come for me.”

“Alek,” I beg.

“I’m here, pretty boy. Come for me,” he demands, his voice hoarse, and I can’t stop myself. My cock jerks in my fist, and I bite down until I taste blood as a whimper chokes from my throat. Desire courses through me until I explode. Cum spills over my fist and into my pants, making a mess as I pant and writhe. It doesn’t stop as pleasure rolls through me, and when I hear him groan my name quietly into the phone, it only makes it harder.

When I can finally stop, my legs shake, my fist is sticky, and my lips ache. “Good boy,” he praises. “Show me how you look right now.” I send a picture, and he groans. “Now clean yourself up—no one else gets to see you like that—and get back to work. The quicker you’re done, the quicker I get to see you.” He hangs up.

I pant, still confused and aroused.

Honestly, it was so hard to clean up the mess, but I did it, and I ignored Lally and Tommy who teased me all afternoon before we went for a meal and then set up camp in the photo lab. It isn’t late, so it’s still busy, but we manage to secure a corner together, which is rare. We all have our headphones on, but being together offers support. Besides, I trust their vision and ideas, and when I show them a photo I’m editing, they both point out it’s better in black and white. I wasn’t sure, but I trust in them, so I start to edit them all that way, seeing the vision.

I’m so engrossed in them that I jump when someone taps my shoulder. When I see my professor behind me, a bag over his shoulder, I get hit by a sense of déjà vu. I minimize my work and pull off my headphones, smiling.

“You found something to shoot?” he asks. “I was worried I was too harsh?—”

“No, you were exactly right. I needed that push, the honest truth,” I reply.

“Can I see?” he asks excitedly.

Biting my lower lip, I look back at my computer, hesitating. “It’s raw and unedited. I don’t know . . .” I look back, but he seems crestfallen, so I blow out a breath. “Okay.” Besides, it’s better to know now, right?

I pull up the images and click through them. He looks over my shoulder the entire time, and I wait with bated breath. When it’s on the last one, I turn to look at him. His eyes are wide, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Damn, Evan.” He nods. “You’re very talented. This is exactly what I was looking for. I can feel your passion for the subject, and I love the gritty nature of the images. You definitely have talent for portraits and expressing the person in them. I can actually feel him. They are incredible, Evan, truly.”

“Really?” I murmur, holding my breath.

“So worth starting over. I’ll leave you to it, and trust in yourself, Evan, because you are very talented.” He smiles and waves as he heads out.

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