Page 44 of Bullet

“Are you… are you beating your meat down here?”

I quickly flip the safety on the gun, then take the bullets out, slipping them into my hand before setting the whole horrible thing down on the sleek white top of the modern coffee table. Its fancy chrome legs glint in the golden light.

Bullet rushes to get his jeans closed, trying to shove his cock back in, but there’s no easy way to curl that behemothback inside. I have visions of him breaking his dick or doing something terrible to it with a zipper.

“Stop!”

He freezes. Well, most of him. His cock has a mind of its own. It’s long and thick, pulsing and throbbing, precum leaking from the tip in fresh, shining beads. Even in my wildest imaginings would I ever have dreamed up that length and girth. My pussy throbs, my walls closing in on themselves, empty and wanting. It’s a nonsensical thing to do. The wholetearing me apartorbreaking mething has never seemed so accurate.

That isn’t a cock. It’s a fucking weapon, just like the gun I’d been holding in my hand, but it seems vastly more dangerous.

And alluring.

I lower myself down slowly and carefully, as though I’ve just walked in on a wolf feasting on its kill.

“Why-why were you doing that?”

“Jesus Christ!” He tries to put it away again, but like before, his cock isn’t in cooperation mode.

“I really want to know.”

“Because I needed to. It’s as simple as that. I needed a release, or I was gonna lose my damn mind, and it’s not like I can take a break and just head to bed or have a nice long shower and get it over with.”

“Why did you need a release?”

“Because you’re so goddamn gorgeous and I can’t have you. I’ve been watching you in your sleek little skirts, your tightpants, and then in those silk pajamas that outline every bit of your body. I couldn’t focus, and I need to be alert. I needed to just fix this and get my shit back in order. I’d have a clear head, unless until I got back to the clubhouse.”

“Oh my god.” He seems as mystified by his explanation as I am, like this normally doesn’t happen to him. I should hope it fucking doesn’t. The thought of someone else seeing him do this wraps around my conflicted brain like poisoned brambles. “You were thinking about me? Why?”

“Do you really not know?”

He tried to tell me last night. I might know, but I still can’t believe it. I want to hear it from him. “I have zero allure. Intelligence is intimidating and off-putting. I have no natural charm, and no idea how to flirt. I’m not curvy. I’m sharp instead of soft. People don’t want to stick their dick into a block of ice.”

Webothblush.

“It’s because you’re intelligent that I’m attracted to you. I don’t find you intimidating because you’re a fighter. I find that so fucking hot.”

“So you decided you’d be respectful by jacking off down here while no one knew about it?”

“I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“No, it actually does. In a roundabout, strange sort of way.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I don’t know. But you have a problem. It looks painful. You should… continue.” I should not be putting words like that out there, or wanting it, but I do. With every fiber of my being.

I can practically see the same question crashing down over Bullet’s face as he eyes me in shock. “Continue?”

“Would you keep doing that? That is, would you want to do that if I was watching?”

“Do youwantto watch?”

This is the part where I get my shit together and tell him politely to have a good night and beat a fast retreat back to my room. I do not do exceptionally wanton things like tell a man I want to watch him masturbate. I have extremely rudimentary experience when it comes to sex. It’s going to show. That will be even more humiliating than what’s already happened.

And yet, it’s not like I have to perform. I can just watch.

His hand slowly moves to the base of his cock and he strokes it up, smearing the wetness at the tip all over his fingers and dragging it along his shaft on the downstroke.

---