Page 26 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
“Now, how about that music lesson?” he asks, bright and lively.
“No such luck, sweetheart,” I say. “I have to be at work at eight-thirty. Raincheck.”
“Of course . . .sweetheart,” he says, imitating me.
Is he teasing me? Or playing the scientist echoing the robot’s lines? No idea. But if I stay out here, I’ll get too lost in my head. I point to the bedroom. “I’m going to hit the sack.”
And probably whack off.
“Me too,” Jude adds.
The trouble is, once I’m in bed and he’s in his room, I hear him shuffling around, opening drawers, one of which squeaks.
I push my hands through my hair, annoyed. These walls are paper-thin. Can’t even fucking jerk it.
Sure, I can be quiet and all, but still. I don’t want to let out a groan accidentally.
Well, the gods of horny men made showers for a reason. Swinging my legs out of bed, I head straight for the bathroom, shut the door and stand under the hot stream. I waste no time. I need to let go of all this tension.
I especially need to do it without thinking of my roommate.
I picture nameless, faceless men as I stroke.
Hard bodies. Broad shoulders. Mouths on cocks.
I close my eyes, grip myself harder, my breath stuttering.
The water skims over me as I hit the right pace, the one that makes my skin crackle, that gets me closer to release. As my fist flies down my length, I picture lips on me.
Yes, that’s it.
Just a standard order blow job.
That’s all I need to reach the edge.
I fight like hell to stay in that zone, seeing a generic face, a handsome man. Except my mind is a traitorous motherfucker. On an upstroke, the dirty images transform, and my fantasies are completely out of my control, like a runaway train.
Lush, full lips. Bright blue eyes that twinkle. Thick blond hair I twist my fingers through. And a willing mouth. Jude would take me deep, grin as he sucked me to the back of his throat.
The show-off. The gorgeous, filthy show-off.
With a grunt that’s louder than I’d like, I come hard, panting too, and hoping he didn’t hear me.
After I finish my shower and put on basketball shorts, I head to my room and flop on the bed.
That helped, and it also didn’t help one damn bit.
When I turn to my side, I hear a sound. The bathroom door is shutting, then the creak of the faucet, the thrum of the shower.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting a losing battle once more. I can’t picture anything but him seeking release.
Needing it as badly as I did.
Or maybe that’s just more of this foolish hope.
Tomorrow, I’ll do better.
In the morning, I’m up at the crack of dawn, and I hit the pavement for a run. After I shower and get ready for work, I eat toast as I listen to Astronaut Food’s upbeat mix of guitar and smooth vocals.
