Page 57 of Mother Parker
The more I imagined all the things I wanted him to do to me, the faster I jerked, and the faster I jerked, the tenser my cock became, and the tenser my cock became, the closer I got to the point of no return.
And then I replayed the events from downstairs. His musk, proximity, and burning gaze. They were the final straw.
My slit flexed. Creamy ropes erupted out of me like a volcano, painting my clothes white.
The muscles on my neck gave way, and I dropped my head as my chest inflated and deflated, trying to catch my breath.
“Fuck!” I strained.
Had I really done that? Had I allowed myself to go awry based on such a small gesture that could mean absolutely nothing?
I shook my head and pushed my butt off the floor. I couldn’t believe I’d done that, but what I couldn’t believe even more than that was how good it felt to fantasize about him.
“You’re a sick man,” I told my reflection in the bathroom mirror and turned the tap on to clean my clothes off with a towel.
But was I? I knew I lived in fantasyland most of the time, but I was still pretty grounded in reality, especially concerning my love life.
My history didn’t allow for dreamy happily-ever-afters and rom-com shenanigans. Besides, I was too busy for a love life anyway.
You could still bang him though.
I looked at myself and took a deep breath. Maybe I did need to bang him. Or anyone. It had been a while. Perhaps I just needed to hook up with someone. Maybe all those urges for Parker were pent-up sexual frustration from not being fucked for months.
An image of Parker coming behind me and burying himself balls deep while staring at me through the mirror flashed before my eyes. I felt the ache in my dick, all spent but still needing that man.
He’s my employee. I can’t take advantage.
“Well…”
Technically, he wasn’t. He was a temp keeping an eye on me and my business. He and the other guys had more important things than helping out a poor bubble tea fanatic with nonexistent threats.
I was sure he’d stop working for me any day now. It had been two weeks since he’d started. How much longer could he go on when there’d been no more incidents?
So maybe I could bang him.
Although how would I even ask that? I couldn’t very well ask him for a quickie in the storeroom.
And what if I’d imagined the whole thing, and he hadn’t been trying to kiss me? What if he was straight?
Or worse. What if he was bi or pan and still didn’t like methatway?
Maybe I just needed to go on Cinderfella and find a tourist to bang.
“Or maybe, you just need me,”the imaginary Parker said, pressing his hard cock between my butt cheeks, and my stupid dick got hard again.
Oh, fuck my life. I opened a can of worms by beating off to him, didn’t I?
There must be a way to figure out the answer to my question without offending or insulting him.
I checked my reflection while hair-drying the wet patches on my clothes and went through all the different options until I’d found the right one, but I still didn’t know if Ishoulddo it.
Was I bracing myself for embarrassment and disaster?
I sighed, combed my fingers through my artificial hair, and made my way downstairs again.
I found him wiping tables, getting rid of dead flowers, and fixing the chairs so they weren’t scattered.
A mountain of a man with the most hardened face, yet he was happily wearing his pink Henley and getting on with the café routine like it was no problem. Yet, only months ago, he was hunting down terrorists and risking his life for our freedom.
