Page 59 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
I felt him shift slightly, settling more comfortably against me, and his thoughts drifted in a new direction.
…his arm is so heavy. All muscle. How did I not know he was this fit? Wonder what the rest of him looks like. Always hides under those suits…
Christ. This was veering into dangerous territory. I should move, should break this connection, but that would mean admitting I’d beenawake, listening to his private thoughts. And we still had days of this trip ahead of us.
…wonder how big his cock is. Surely as big as the rest of him. Feels pretty damn generous pressed against my back. Bet he’d fill my mouth perfectly. Thick and heavy on my tongue…
I fought to keep my breathing steady as Rory’s thoughts became increasingly explicit.
…bet he tastes so good. God, I’d love a taste. Would he be gentle or would he grab my hair and take control?…
The vivid imagery flooding from Rory’s mind made it increasingly difficult to maintain my charade of sleep. My body flushed from head to toe, and I focused on counting backward from one hundred, desperately trying to ignore both Rory’s fantasies and my dick’s traitorous response to them.
Because one wrong move now would make the rest of this trip unbearably awkward.
…wonder what he’d look like on his knees for me. Those intense eyes staring up through those sexy glasses, all that authority completely surrendered…
Rory’s imagination spiralled, painting vivid flashes of mental pictures that flooded into my consciousness. Me on my knees, mouth stretched around his cock, him thrusting into my throat. Rory’s waves of imagined pleasure shot straight to my own groin, and I clamped my lips shut to suppress a groan.
…his mouth would be so hot and wet around me. I’d grab his head with both hands, make him take all of me…
The vision continued to unfold in graphic detail, each image more explicit than the last. Rory had a fantastic imagination, I’d give him that.
…I’d finish all over his face, get my cum all over him, watch him with those glasses splattered…
It was no use. I couldn’t control my body’s reaction anymore. My cock hardened painfully against the thin fabric of my tracksuit bottoms, pressing unmistakably against Rory’s lower back. Panic surged through me as I realised there wasno hiding it—the evidence of my arousal was firmly wedged against him.
…bloody hell, is that his dick?! Jesus Christ, it IS massive…
To my horror, instead of pulling away, Rory deliberately pushed back against me, shuffling so that the crevice of his ass nestled my straining cock, the movement sending shockwaves through my entire body.
…shame he’s straight. And that he hates me. I think he actually might be quite nice, as well. Maybe I should stop terrorising him…
His thoughts paused briefly before concluding:
…nah. That’s boring…
Each tiny shift of Rory’s body against mine sent fresh waves of agonizing pleasure through my groin. When he arched his back slightly—perhaps stretching in his pretend sleep—my cock throbbed painfully.
Christ, how long had it been? Eight months? A year? The dry spell had clearly affected my self-control because the pressure building at the base of my spine was unmistakable. I was genuinely at risk of coming in my briefs like a bloody teenager, just from this contact.
Rory wiggled his hips back against me. Even biting into the side of my cheek didn’t stop my dick from pulsing, desperate to rut against him. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm as I realised I was dangerously close to the edge. If I didn’t move now, there would be no hiding the evidence. The mortification would be complete.
Then Rory made a sound—a soft, breathy little noise in the back of his throat—half sigh, half moan.
That tiny sound broke me.
Without any plan, I quite violently shoved him away from me, leapt to my feet, and practically ran towards the bathroom.
“Morning, Detective Teddy Bear.” Rory’s voice was thick with sleep and smug satisfaction. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
I slammed the bathroom door behind me, turning the lock with trembling fingers. Spinning the shower dial to its coldest setting, I yanked the water on full blast. The pipes groaned in protest, but water soon cascaded down in what I hopedwould be an icy deluge.
I stripped off my clothes with desperate haste, then stepped under the spray, bracing for the shock of cold.
But even as icy water pelted my skin, raising goosebumps across my chest and shoulders, my cock remained stubbornly, painfully erect. It jutted out from my body, proudly swollen, twitching with each pulse of my heartbeat, completely unmoved by the freezing temperature. If anything, the contrast of cold water against my burning skin only heightened every sensation.
Ice cannot quench what fire has lit,
