Page 10 of First Class Feelings

I can’t move. Can’t leave despite knowing I should.

“Fuck,” he grunts, the sound barely audible over the noise of the water.

My legs go weak. I have to lean on the doorjamb to hold myself up.

As I’m watching, his movement grows faster. The glass is the kind that doesn’t fog. I’m given a perfect view of everything.

“Foster,” he says next.

I freeze.

Literally every part of me locks tight at the sound of my name.

He hisses, and his hips buck forward.

“Little one.”

Unable to hold back, I whimper when I realize he wants both parts of me—big Foster and Little me. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. There was zero chance of keeping quiet.

Duval’s eyes meet mine in the next instant. He must have heard me.

His mouth drops open as his body locks up. I can’t look away as he comes, the release mixing with the water as it disappears down the drain.

I immediately hate that it’s gone.

It should have been mine. I want it. I need it.

Woah.

What the fuck? I’ve never been greedy over someone’s cum. What has this man done to me? And how in the hell am I supposed to cope once this week is over?

As I’m lost in thought, he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. His body is just as impressive on this side of the glass. I track my eyes over the planes of his frame, cataloging it all for when I don’t have access to it anymore.

I have no doubt I’m going to get my luggage, say my apologies for being a bother, and then disappear from this man’s life as soon as possible. It’s the only logical plan, especially after this.

“Foster,” he says softly as he grabs a towel. “How was your nap?”

Blinking, I try to put together an answer for him. It’s kind of hard—just like his cock appears to still be. Or maybe it’s hardagain. I mean, Isawhim come.

He’s young though. Maybe he just has a wild refractory period.

“Little one?”

I whip my head up at the nickname. “Huh?”

Duval smiles at me, as if he knows his body is distracting me from the conversation. He wraps the towel around his waist, which does very little to hide how aroused he is.

“I asked how your nap was. You were out cold when I left you to come clean up.”

“Fine. It was ok. Not comfy.”

Shit.

I clear my throat. “Um, it was not the most comfortable.”

His brow rises when I try to force myself to speak more like an adult. I don’t know why this man’s presence brings out my Little side so easily. It’s like simply being around him is enough to regress.

Normally I have to be around another Little or bury myself into a small activity to get there. Something like cartoons and coloring, or even a tea party with my stuffies. It’s never been so simple as talking to someone.

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