Page 59 of By the Pint

“I can’t control it when you’re near,” I angry whispered to him.You just do something to me. I can’t explain it, but I can’t get you out of my head.

It was everything about him. His smell, his voice, his face, the coolness that radiated from his skin, the electric charge in the foot of air between us. Everything about him was a memory trigger to the night at Dreadmourne Castle. Or it inspired new fantasies I wouldn’t have thought up if I were by myself. I’d never wanted anyone more.

All I’d been trying to do was get back at him. For the golf incident, for the not-telling-me-about-the-telepathy thing. For winding me up at every opportunity. For making me cry over Jackie. He’d said“No more flirty banter” — made me promise — nothing more than teacher-student vibes. I only wanted to make him squirm a little. Being in such close proximity to him was firing up all my atoms, and for a week, I’d had no release but my own damn hand.

Sure, I’d succeeded at winding him up. But I’d also wound myself up way too tightly. My suit pants felt like they were made of fire ants, the fly rubbed in all the wrong places. My dick was so hard it was making the rest of my body feel numb. Why was I like this?

I tried to feel guilty that I’d put Dima through the same thing, but whenever I looked at him, he pulled his brow down and bit his bottom lip, and said,Make it stop, which triggered another onslaught of filthy images.

Him on his knees for me. My cock buried in his throat. The predator he became. I wanted to see his face as he came apart, so I could put an image to that fucking sound of him coming. I wanted him to sling my feet over his shoulders and lose himself entirely inside me. To wrap his hand around my throat. To flip me over and push my face into the pillow.

Beside me, Dima whimpered.

“I can’t turn it off,” I bit back.

What I needed to do, and do soon or I’d explode, was get back to my room and jerk off. And relieve some of this burning need. And then maybe I could think clearer again.

We’d reached the corridor leading to my room. I paused outside my door to fish the keycard from my inside jacket pocket. “This is me.” My voice sounded like tires rolling over gravel.

“Yep,” Dima said, because of course he already knew that. “And …” He cleared his throat. “That one is mine.” He pointed to the metal door I originally mistook for a cleaning cupboard.

“Well, good night then,” I said.

He didn’t move towards his door. Instead, he took a tiny step closer to me. My heart threw itself against my windpipe.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?” I asked. I definitely didn’t notice the inviting bow to his top lip, or the slight curve to his otherwise straight nose, or the lock of wayward hair that curled against his brow. He was beautiful, and it was a crying shame his face could not be photographed.

Dima’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Um … what are you going to do in there?”

I definitely didn’t take a larger than necessary lungful of his metallic scent. “You know full well what I’m going to do.”

A soft whimper escaped his lips. It travelled directly to my dick, making it impossibly harder.

“You’re the one that said there wouldn’t be any benefits to this … friendship.” I leaned closer, hovering my lips above his ear, breathing him in even more. “You’re more than welcome to join me, you know.”

He said nothing. His back ramrod straight.

“Didn’t think so. Good night, Mosquito.” I slammed my key card against the reader, and before he had the chance to tell me no, or stop me, I pushed the door open, and darted inside.

I’d barely had time to remove my shoes and hang up my jacket before the guest phone, an old-fashioned looking landline thing with a swirling cable, started ringing on the desk. Instinctively, I knew it was him.

The receiver looked clean enough. I lifted it to my ear. “Dima.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice altogether too breathy for someone whose lungs didn’t work. “Have you done it yet?”

“It’s literally been one minute since I shut the door.”

“Okay.” He sounded relieved. “Are you going to do it in the shower?”

“That’s where I usually do it.”

“Because it’s more hygienic?”

“Washes straight down the drain.”

Of course, Dima wasn’t able to hear my thoughts on the phone. He wouldn’t know if I was thinking of him or not. Except …

“There’s only one wall separating us. Can you hear my thoughts through that?” I asked, sending out a particularly graphic test image of Dima’s cock swelling inside me. An involuntary moan left my lips.

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