Page 60 of Kismet

The lights are off, phone is plugged into the charger, and the fan is on. I’m wide fucking awake. The memories of Cash and me playing on repeat through my head like a home video. It’s been like this every single night since he started last Monday. My cock is painfully hard inside my boxers, and I’m fighting the urge to wrap my hand around it to put me out of my misery.

Since he’s arrived, I’ve refused to let myself jack off to him, to memories of us. I have the worst case of blue balls in the fucking history. My nuts fucking ache with the need to drain, and every brush of fabric threatens to bring on an erection. My mind goes back to the time in my home office when he kneeled for me like such a good fucking boy. The way he looked—naked, hungry, big, dark, doe eyes staring up at me, waiting to do whatever it was that would please me. Andfuckkk, did he fucking please me alright.

Without my permission, my hand snakes underneath the covers, beneath the waistband of my underwear, until I’m palming my hot, hard length. A hiss escapes me as my eyes roll back. Fuck, even minimal contact feels fucking amazing after a week without anything. Visions of him with my cock rammed down his throat as his eyes cry for me, play behind my eyelids as I stroke myself with fervor.

My other hand tweaks my nipple between my fingers, the sensation shooting pleasure straight to my nuts, causing my dick to leak as I keep jacking myself. The sounds of him moaning around me as I come down his throat reverberate in my ears, and I swear it’s like he’s right beside me.

Behind my closed eyes, he’s hard and needy as I prop him up on my desk and stroke him the same way I’m stroking myself. His neck and cheeks flush, and he tugs his lip between his teeth. In my vision, he’s as close to exploding as I am. Vivid thoughts of him coming all over my hand has my head thrown back, neck taut, as my own release plunders through me like a hurricane.

My balls draw up tight and my cock pulses stream after stream of hot, white cum all over my stomach. A gargled sound between a cry and a groan claws its way up my throat, stars explode behind my closed eyelids, and as I come down from the high, my body melts into my bed. The euphoric feeling is gone in a flash, and I’m left lying there, covered in my own cum, disappointed as fuck in myself for giving in like that.

Fuck this.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cash DeMarco

I’m walking through my front door now after an entirely too long day. My third full week as a professor is complete, and I thankfully seem to have a great group of students. Another plus is that I haven’t run into Stone at all this week. Even when I had to head to the office for supplies, he wasn’t in there.

A couple of the other professors asked me to come out tonight. There’s apparently this dive bar across town that plays great live music on the weekends. I’m exhausted as hell, but said I would go anyway, because I need to make some friends here. We’re all meeting up in a few hours, so I have time to eat and shower beforehand.

My shower is short and as I’m pulling on my jeans, my phone rings. It’s my buddy, Branson, FaceTiming me. I accept the call, propping it on my dresser, as I drag my t-shirt over my head.

“What’s up, bro?”

“Cash, my man! How’s the prof gig going?”

“Not bad. It was my second week with students, and it went well. I’m finally starting to feel like I’m getting to know them.”

“Dope. Are you teaching all levels or what?”

“Nah, this semester, and probably all year, I’m doing introduction classes. Which I’m fine with. It gets me used to the role. How’re you guys?”

Branson and his husband, Luca, moved back to our hometown, Bellingham, after Luca graduated. They both work with their dad, and adopted their first baby girl last December. Her name is Adeline, and she has the squishiest cheeks I’ve ever seen.

“We’re good. Luca is still at the office. He had a late afternoon client meeting, but I’m home early. Adeline’s sitter had a family emergency.”

“How is she doing? Addy, I mean. Not the sitter. Although I hope she’s good too.”

“So good, man!” His whole face lights up when he talks about her. “She’s starting to babble and talk a little. One good thing about being a gay household is we don’t have to worry about her saying mama before dada, or vice versa, because we’re both dada.”

I laugh. “That is a great way to look at it. Thinking of giving her a little brother or sister?”

“Fuck no,” he replies immediately. “Well… I don’t know. Our hands are full with one. Ask us in a few years. Listen, Kova wants to say hi to Houston, so make that happen.” He has a goofy ass grin pulled across his face as he holds up his snow-white cat.

“Okay, okay. One sec. He’s on the bed.” Houston is cat napping on top of my comforter. He peels one of his eyes open as I approach him before throwing himself back and stretching.

He and Kova are pals.

And it’s only a little bit weird that we have them talk.

“Hey, little buddy. Wanna say hi to Kova?” I scoop him up off the bed and make my way back to my dresser, where my phone is still propped. The screen is filled with Branson smiling like a goober while he holds his little white ball of fur. Kova looks less than amused at being subjected to a FaceTime call.

“Houston!” Branson booms when he sees him. “How the heck are ya, you little wrinkly ball sac?!”

Houston looks at the screen, eyes widening as he takes in who’s talking to him. Kova meows when he sees him, and they both start purring. I have never seen two cats get along the way these two do. Back when I lived in Washington, I would sometimes go visit everyone back home, or they’d come visit me at WSU. Branson and I would always bring our cats, and they would play together forhours. They’d fall asleep wrapped up together.

It’s a true feline bromance if I’ve ever seen one.

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