Page 13 of Cherry Picking
Is it bad that having a man take care of me turns me on? That the sweet gestures make me want to beg him to rail me into next week? There’s gotta be something in the DSM-5 about how fucked up that is.
I fall back against the door and drag my palm down the length of my hardening dick.
Fuck, that feels good.
After how rough this week has been, standing in the shower with hot water beating down my back while I play with myself nice and slow sounds like the perfect end to my day.
“At least make it to the shower before you jerk off,” Riley shouts, banging a fist on the door and only serving to make me twitch beneath my briefs.
“Fuck you,” I mumble back, but he only laughs.
The sound of receding footsteps echoes down the hall, and with an immense amount of effort, I push myself off the door, peel my boxers down my legs, and get the water started for a long, hot session of relaxation.
I make quick work of getting clean, letting all the sweat and grime circle down the drain as the heat bleeds the tension from my shoulders and calves. No sooner are the suds washed away that I take my length in hand and give it one long, slow stroke from base to tip.
Ah, fuck, I need this.
A few pumps and my dick is leaking, salivating for a touch to bring it to the edge. But I want to enjoy the torturous build, the heat pooling in my gut as I picture gray eyes looking up at me. A waiting tongue for me to drag the tip across.
It would be so easy to take myself down to a bar or club and scout out a horny man willing to get on his knees for me.
But my stupid libido is stuck on a certain hockey player, and the one time I’ve hooked up since coming here, I made it back to the apartment feeling dirtier than a dog rolling around in themud. I jerked off three times that night trying to replace the smell of the strange man’s spunk all over my body.
So, instead, I let the desire build and fester until all I can do is close my eyes and pretend the tight fist around my cockhead is one very witty man’s talented mouth.
I glide my palm along the underside, pulling the foreskin down to press my thumb to the flushed, sensitive slit. Imagining a tongue flicking across it and warm lips around the head drawing out every drop of precum until the real thing is ready to spill down their throat.
Fuck.
Cradling my balls in one hand and stroking my shaft with the other, I rest my forehead on the wet wall.
This is what I need. To be worked up. To be worked over.
I prop a leg on the tub of the shower and reach lower, pressing past my balls to my hole and push with the pad of one finger. It gives easy, used to accepting one of my toys, and soon I’m jacking my cock with quick motions that match the thrust of the digit deep inside.
“Griff?”
Most people would be hands off the moment they hear their roommate’s muffled gruff through the bathroom door, but not me. His voice spurs me on, and I’ll only be another moment, so I work myself harder. Faster. Imagining myself barreling towards release with Riley Easton waiting to taste my cum.
To swallow it down and groan around my length as it pulses in his mouth.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The peak rises, my abs tense, my thighs quake, and my lips part on an uncontainable groan.
At that exact moment, the shower curtain is yanked back, and my eyes fly open even as I know there’s no stopping the orgasm already in motion.
I meet Riley’s startled, frazzled gaze as I feel the first spurt of cum shoot from my dick. It pulses, hits the shower wall with some dripping down my fist that’s still milking my release.
We stare at each other as I bite back the moan that comes from slipping my finger out of my ass as inconspicuous as I can. It still draws his attention, and those eyes slide down my body, breath whooshing out of his lungs as they land on my cock.
The cock that twitches hard between my fingers and spits up a few extra drops of cum like having Riley’s gaze on it is enough to draw out another orgasm.
I can’t look away from his face. From his wide eyes and parted lips that get to experience the erotic movements of his tongue. There’s a flush down his bare, furry chest, and an obvious tent in his dark gray sweats.
Riley snaps out of it first, and thank god because brain function doesn’t seem to be returning anytime soon. My other head is still very much in control.
He lifts his eyes to the ceiling before slamming them shut and stepping back.
