Page 60 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
But I still see Nora in my dreams.
13
FREDDIE
Me:Wrong number, sweetheart.
I stare at my response as I sit on my bed. My fleshlight rolls down toward my hand from where it’s perched on the bed. I push it aside. It’s still wet from its recent cleaning, but the touch alone reminds me of what I did earlier. Orwho I thought ofwhen I was milking my cock earlier.
I fight the urge to look at her picture—the picture I know wasn’t meant for me.
It had to be an accident, I know that. Whoever this was meant for, it’s not me. Not by a long shot.
I tell myself deleting the photo is the right thing to do. I shouldn’t be looking at this, but yet…I can’t tear my gaze away. Just like I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her and Rush this morning, curled together on the couch. Underneath the blanket. Just like I couldn’t look away this afternoon when I saw her pick up those panties and that bra that she’s wearing in the damn photo.
That has to be a coincidence right? I mean, she didn’t send this tomejust because I bought them for her…right?
The reality that I did, in fact, purchase those tight little pieces of fabric that only elevate her natural beauty is not lost on me. And it only makes me want to spend more money on her. I have the deepest urge to take her on a damn shopping spree just so I can look at her in all the things Daddy spoils his princess with.
Fuck. I haven’t referred to myself as Daddy in years.
After Vicki and I broke things off, I swore I wouldneveruse that moniker again. I wasdonewith being Daddy, because I couldn’t be Daddy without my princess…without mygood girl.
And Vicki soured that notion for me, which is why I spent a whole year hiring subs to placate those desires, but…it never worked. Not really.
Because Daddy isn’t just a role. It’s a state of mind. It’s a lifestyle, a state of being.
And I couldn’t operate in that state of mind as a heartbroken, damaged, single man without a woman who made me feel those things, without a person who could bring out that part of me, engage that part of me.
But the fact that I just thought about Nora—the fact that I just thought about spoiling her like Daddy’s good little girl deserves—is dangerous. On so many levels.
Maybe Rush isn’t the only one treading dangerous waters right now.
“It’s better this way,” I tell myself as my thumb hovers over the trash icon next to the message.
I get one last look at the image, but then another comes in. Only this time, it’snota photo.
It’s a video.
Oh, fuck.
I shouldn’t watch it. I should delete this photo and the video without even giving it a second glance because that is what good men do.
But that’s the thing—I’mnota good man. Far from it.
I can’t help myself. Something inside of me finds it—findsherdamn near irresistible.
Before I can stop myself, my finger slips and the damage is done.
I can’t tear my gaze away. The video is off-center, like the phone was knocked over, and I can see part of her hand, like she’s holding it.
But I don’tneedto see her in the video to know what she looks like since I’ve got the image above, forever burned in my brain. Her moans fill the space, and as if my cock wasn’t already hard enough as is, the sound of her frustrating groans and whines is like music to my ears. Not only are those whines and cries submissive as hell, but she also sounds so strained and desperate for release.
I groan in defeat, my own personal torment swirling inside of me. My cock strains against my sweats, and I tell myself it’s wrong to feel like this. So fucking wrong.
But I also know how much I’ve missed this feeling. How much I’ve missed feeling desire. Attraction.
Powerlessness.
