Page 134 of Koroleva

Aleksa

I was so messed up, I wanted to scream.

Six weeks of rest, well, four and a half if we counted the eleven days since that bastard broke my ribs.

The pain was a bitch, but Andrey's attitude was even worse. He went from licking my knob to not touching me with the gardener's rake. Well, unless he had to help me.

The damn son of Russia moved to the couch. To the couch! Arguing that he was afraid he'd hit me and break another two ribs with his elbow.

What he really feared was that I'd break his ass, or his heart, because he wasn't fooling me. I hope a spring sticks right up his hole.

What he really feared was that I’d break his ass, or his heart, because he wasn’t fooling me. I wished a spring would pierce right through his hole.

The blond was in a terrible mood, taciturn, and if he was previously sparing with words, now he must have been on economy mode because, no matter how much I provoked him, he let out nothing more than grunts.

The worst part was that I couldn’t control my pulse from racing when he brought me breakfast or helped me with my hygiene. That was the worst. Wasn’t pain supposed to decrease my libido? Well, my dick was like a concrete beam prop.

Even though he didn't sleep with me, Andrey’s scent was impregnated in the sheets, the curtains, and my damn brain, which conspired with my balls to keep them hard without the need for boiling water. I had images of our encounters playing over and over, like one of those silly reels you can't stop watching.

And being locked up didn’t help. The hours dragged on too slowly, and the days even more so. No matter how much the guys, or Romeo, tried to distract me, my life was a damn hell with its own name.

How long had it been since I’d fallen for a guy like this? I didn’t even know if it had ever happened before. Normally, I’d fuck and that was it, but this level of obsession was turning me into a damn perverted stalker.

I know what I'm about to say is filthy and mentally sick to the level of a hundred out of ten, but I was so desperate that I did the impossible to get close to the laundry basket and steal one of the white shirts Andrey used to sleep in, which he had left behind. And right now, I was jerking off while sniffing it like a maniac.

That was my fucking level of desperation.

My hand was slick with baby oil and a damn sweaty shirt wrapped around my nose.

My abs contracted from the pleasure and then I could see all the way to Pluto. That was enough to kill my hard-on when I was on the edge. I couldn't just pass out or die drowned by an accumulation of sperm.

I was trying to reach orgasm for the third time when the door opened without warning, and the object of my delirium squinted in the doorway.

I stopped jerking off and tried to shove the shirt under the pillow before he noticed it, although it was too obvious for those hawk-like eyes not to see.

"Are you jacking off with my clothes?"

"Wow, look who's got their voice back! What price did you pay the sea witch to get it, getting a glimpse of my tackle?"

He snorted at me. I looked him up and down. With that presence, he could blow whatever he wanted, with that mouth he turned me into one of those glowing glass vases shaped between the lips of a skilled artisan.

"Dante came to see you, and I had to come up to get the laundry basket. I didn't think you'd be..."

"Jerking off like a monkey because you won't suck me? Well, you see, some of us manage as we can, seeing as the nurse doesn't want to offer her help." He closed the door behind him as if my comment could have been heard by anyone.

"Lower your voice."

I was the first one who didn't want to come out of the closet, preferring to keep everyone away from my sexuality, but now it annoyed me that Andrey closed the door, ashamed of having had whatever it was with me.

"What's the matter? Does it piss you off that others know you've fucked me until I came with pleasure? Or don't you want them to find out that the big Russian ice block melts with desire for someone like this? Even though he won't admit it, of course." I waved the erection that was still reasonably decent.

His eyes flashed, though the words didn't match that fiery glint.

"I've already told you what I came for."

I was angry, he still gave me no opening, not even to argue. Well, I was starting to get fed up, so I didn't care if he felt like biting his tongue, because that was a fucking bore! Was he here for the dirty clothes? Great, because I was going to give them to him. I pulled out his shirt, grumpy.

"Take the basket and don't forget this," I argued, passing it over my cock. "It's a bit oily and smells like burnt dick." I took the opportunity and threw it at his face.

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