Page 32 of Scoring the Player
I trail circles around my stomach.
Chest slumped, the shooter gets off a limp pass.
A hint of something subtle tickles my nose, and I press my eyes closed to fight the pull, even as my fingers extend and feather across the metal of the spoon.
Salem’s neck muscles tighten as he zeros in on the new ball handler.
My tongue grazes my bottom lip as the spoon’s metal stem presses into my palm.
No.I drop it and rub my palm across the couch cushion.
He pounces, his hamstrings and glutes powered up.
Massaging my erection through my boxer briefs, I bear down, contracting the muscles inside my pelvis.
One, two, three strides, and he closes in.
Pre-cum darkens the gray cotton.
Corded Achilles and calves spring-loaded.
I reach under my waistband and wrap my hand around the head of my erection.
His mouth parts slightly as he launches up.
Tightening my fingers, they glide back and forth, causing pre-cum to leak onto my stomach.
His gaze darkens, jaw tightens.
“Mmh,” I pant as a toe-curling wave of heat crests up my spine.
His delts and lats draw back.
My free hand drags over the cushion for the lube.
His gold piercing catches the light as he flares his nostrils.
My fingers sink into the moist sponge cake, jerking my dick ramrod straight.
I swallow roughly and rub the cream into the pads of my fingers.
Releasing myself, I massage my knuckles against the knot forming in my sternum.
A low-frequency hum clouds my ears as I roll out my neck.
Like the controls have been hacked by an enemy combatant, the flat of my palm raises, my lips part, and my turncoat tongue slithers out until the tip collides with the cream.
Holy hell.
Plunging into the layers of cream and spongy cake again, I suck my fingers into my mouth.
I hate him.
I hate him so hard.
The pressure builds between my legs.
Goosebumps pebble my arm as I stare at the cake and then my dick.
