Page 68 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
I imagine leaning in to kiss her like Russ did. Imagine tangling my fingers through her hair. Imagine her smooth, soft lips against my own and her hand wrapped around my bare cock.
The last time I let anyone touch me, I was sixteen and I was too nervous to take my pants off. I came in my pants, without warning, and the whole thing was fucking humiliating. Especially because I didn’t understand what was happening or how it happened so fast and then I started freaking out and Kiara got all pissed off.
Would I burst so easy if Nora touched me?
Probably.
But thinking about it—about hertouchingmy cock with her hand, slowly pumping me like I do to myself—has my cock aching.
And then I let my mind wander to the thought of her mouth, her tongue caressing mine as I make out with her like Russell did. With my hands in her hair, her sweetness on my tongue. I know she would taste like sugar. Because she’s made of sugar from her head to her toes.
I focus on the feel of my hand around my cock. The aching hardness, the blossoming moisture on my tip. I imagine kissing her mouth, her neck. Finding that lacy little bra strap I only gota glimpse of. I imagine her lips trailing down my skin, their soft warmth sliding down my neck, my chest, my abs…
And then I groan deep as I imagine Nora taking my cock in her mouth like the women in the porn I watch sometimes. I imagine her head bobbing up and down as I slip my fingers through her locks, and the thought alone throws me into an orgasm.
I fall back, pulling my cock with me, and my cum spurts onto my shirt.
“Oh, fuck…” I whisper as I lean back, feeling every twitching pulse of my cock.
Holy shit.
I’m more than thankful when I go soft quicker than I did last night.
I stare at the ceiling, the shame and guilt hitting me again, because that’s three times now that I’ve masturbated to the thought of Nora in damn near twenty-four hours.
You like her.
Zack’s words bat around the newfound desire that’s awakened in me.
Yes. I do.
I like Nora Brighton, and that realization is as harrowing as it is exciting, and maybe even a little dangerous. I like her, and I think I want to see her again.
I look at her text—or more aptly, the image and the video she sent. I could keep it and stash it away. Never tell anyone—even Zack—about it. It would be easy, but it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.
Because Ilike Nora.
And she’s more than just some fantasy to me. And if I’m going to do this—if I’m going to try and talk to her, try to explore these feelings I have for her, I can’t let my fantasy override my judgment.
So I delete the photo and the video without a second thought.
Because I tell myself if it’s meant to be, I’ll see her againthatway. And when I do, it’ll be because she wants me to see her like that. And it’ll mean so much more, because I’ll know it’s real and not some accidental text.
Even though they’re gone, I can still faintly see the shadow, the memory of what was there as if the image is burned into my screen or my damn retinas.
But I push it aside because I want more than sexy photos of Nora for my spank bank.
I want Nora Brighton, mind, body, and soul.
So I take a deep breath and text her. I type it and erase it five times before I settle on something basic and friendly enough that it doesn’t sound sexual in any way.
Me:We should grab coffee. Talk more.
I stare at the screen, waiting for her response, even though I know it’s not coming because it’s late. But part of me hopes. Hopes that I’ll be awakened by a soft chime and seeyesin that open space.
But her text doesn’t come, as I knew it wouldn’t. Instead, exhaustion hits, and though my body aches from my practice this evening with Zack, I feel lighter than I’ve ever felt before.
And for the first time, when I close my eyes, I fall asleep excited to see what the next day brings.
