Page 23 of Under The Twilight Rainfall
“I won’t need the bed until I get the cameras set up.”
Okay, this is fine. I can switch into photographer mode, turn off my brain for a bit, and try to get the notion out of my head that anything could happen with Valen that wouldn’t fuck me up inside.
Feelings and sex don’t go together, and since I can’t refute that I care about the fucker no matter how much space and time I’ve put between us—sex is out of the question.
Once Valen is in the shower, I get my equipment ready. It’s a pretty simple setup: a big ring light to make up for the lack of natural lighting—because I can’t exactly open the curtains for something like this—and the camera positioned at the foot of the bed on its stand. I plan to be pretty stationary, so the one camera and the one light will be fine.
Just as I’m setting the camera’s timer, the water in the bathroom shuts off and a thrill travels up my spine. I try not to trip over my feet as I settle on the bed, placing the lube under the pillow and relaxing as best I can.
It’s been a long time since my nerves have acted up in front of a camera. Even longer since it’s happened about being watched. Usually my hookups like when I put on a little show for them. They enjoy watching me get myself ready, and getting to see the physical evidence of how much they wrecked me.
But this is different. Valen isn’t here to fuck me, isn’t here to be a prop in one of my videos, isn’t here to help me turn off the world and get lost in him.
He watches me. He’s admitted as much.
I stroke my cock through the tight briefs, hearing the ‘click’ of the recorder starting. My eyes are closed, and I breathe deep as I listen to shuffling in the other room. I try not to think about him, try to think of my last day back home—about Zeke holding me down and pounding me into the mattress until my voice was hoarse from screaming.
The moan that leaves my lips is pure want—I need to be touched—and it comes at the same time the bathroom door opens. I shouldn’t open my eyes, but I do, finding Valen’s dark stare on me. He’s got a towel around his waist, and the pink in his hair leaves little colored droplets down his chest.
I squeeze my dick, stroking over the cloth all while never taking my eyes off the man I know I shouldn’t be thinking about. Still, I watch as he goes to his own bag and starts pulling out clothes.
It’s a good thing I’m not a talker and none of my fans expect me to be. I’m a moaner and a screamer, but chatting to the viewers isn’t something I’m interested in unless it’s a live feed.
When Valen drops his towel, his back is to me, but seeing that toned ass only reminds me of rutting against it the night before. My cock throbs, but instead of freeing it and jerking off, I grip it tight in my fist and slide my free hand up my chest, rolling a nipple between my fingers until a low, throaty moan is pulled from me.
Valen turns around with his underwear and shorts pulled up, but the shirt is hanging limply from his fingers, and when I dip my hands into my briefs, I watch the material drop to the floor. He can’t help watching. I can see it in his guilty expression, in the bob of his throat and the tenseness of his jaw.
I close my eyes and give my shaft a slow and tortuous pump before deciding to shove my briefs down my thighs and kick them towards the end of the bed. There’s a soft gasp across the room, and it fuels my fist stroking along my cock, drawing strings of precum that aid the glide.
I’m aching, leaking, and incredibly turned on by the time my cock is slick enough for me to twist and tug at the head, and the pleasure that washes over me has my hips bucking off the bed to chase the friction.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.My hole throbs. I need to fill it with something.
The bottle of lube nearly slips out of my fingers as I plant my feet on the bed and release my cock. I have exactly zero patience, and the viewers will just have to live with a quickie because there’s no way I can draw this out.
I need to be stuffed, and I need to come, and I need to stop thinking about handsome as hell Valen watching me get myself off.
Maybe I should have grabbed one of my toys after all.
I swipe two slicked up fingers over my hole, hitching my legs higher and letting them fall open. Normally I’d tease, showing off how my hole clenches and tries to suck my fingers in, but I want something inside me too damn bad.
It’s slower than I’d like to get them in, but once I do, I can’t stop. I can’t stop thrusting into myself, can’t stop stroking and stretching, and I sure as hell can’t stop crying out with each pass over my prostate.
I learned exactly where that fucker was a few years ago, and I know exactly how to milk it for the best orgasms.
Trying to keep my free hand off my cock so this isn’t over embarrassingly fast, I grip my hair hard—like I ask all my lovers to—and fight the urge to grind down on my fingers. When I squeeze a third in and need a distraction from the burn, I open my eyes and seek out Valen.
His eyes aren’t locked on the movements of my fingers like I figure they’d be—no, his gaze is on my face, our stares colliding and making me gasp as I’m absolutely steamrolled by desire.
Just this once. No one has to know, right?
I twist my fingers inside and tighten my grip on my hair, doing something that’s either going to get me what I want or is going to make me end this trip prematurely.
“Val.”
As soon as his name passes my lips, Valen is kneeling on the foot of the bed, not in frame of the camera but oh so close, and I just want him to touch me.
“Val,” I moan his name again, stroking that spot inside that nearly sends me over the edge.
