Page 36 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
My jaw drops, and my core immediately begins weeping with joy.
He took off his jeans and shirt, stood in front of the mirror of the bathroom, and took a mirror selfie in just his underwear. Tight black boxer briefs. He must have zoomed a little, because it’s a bit grainy, but worth it because I can see his entire package outlined by the stretch black fabric.
And holy mother of all fucks, is he well-endowed.
My heart crashes in my chest, and my core tightens, and my nipples go so hard the pink heart stickers fall off. The thing in his underwear is ENORMOUS. So long, and so thick. I enlarge the photo, shamelessly, hoping for more detail or something. What I see makes me whimper out loud: at the very top of his underwear, just beneath his navel, is a hint of pink. As if his underwear weren’t quite up to job of totally containing him.
God, oh god.
There’s no doubt. I stare at that photo long enough that I’m absolutely certain the tip of his penis is visible.
Why that drives me so nuts, I don’t know.
But it does.
So nuts that I don’t hesitate to whip out my little friend and set it to work between my thighs. I stare at the picture he sent, at his enormous chest and thick arms and hard stomach, at his broad shoulders and trim waist and powerful thighs, at his rugged features and incredible hair. And yeah, at his package, at the erection only barely hidden by his underwear…
An erection caused by me.
I’m in the middle of my orgasm when he texts back.
Jesse: So? What do you think? It’s been like five minutes and not a word from you.
I can’t quite bite back the half-scream of my orgasm, which is, for some reason, heightened by the fact that he’s texting me as I’m coming.
And then…my phone rings.
It’s him.
I answer it. “H-h-hello?” I whisper, breathless.
“You can’t just not text back after I send you that. Gonna give me a complex. Or a panic attack.”
I’m gasping, still shivering and trembling from the aftershocks. “Sorry. I was…um…just…enjoying your photo.”
His voice goes deep and raspy. “Imogen. No. Please, no. Don’t tell me I called you in the middle of what I think you’re in the middle of.”
I hold my little friend up to the phone, so he can hear the buzzing. And then I replace it between my thighs, and immediately a whimper is torn out of me.
God, there has to be something wrong with me. Did getting divorced short-circuit all of my inhibitions? Like, what is actually wrong with me that I’m doing this?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jesse growls. “You are. You’re seriously—” His voice drops, and I hear background noise fade away, as if he’d gone outside into the parking lot. A moment later I hear a car door open and thunk shut. “You’re seriously doing that, right now?”
I let another whimper escape, as answer, holding the phone up to my ear. “Jesse…”
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
“God, yeah. I’ve already come once.”
“Shit. Why’d you answer?”
“I—I don’t know. Oh god. Oh god…”
“You’re looking at the photo?” His voice is strained, tense.
“So hot,” I say. “The little hint of the tip sticking out the top is what put me over the edge.”
And then I groan, a long, low sound of impending release, and I hear rustling on the other end. “I’m gonna get arrested, but fuck, I can’t help myself. If I don’t come right now, I’m gonna go haywire.”
“Do it,” I urge. “Right now.”
“In my truck, in the parking lot of Billy Bar.”
“While on the phone with me.”
“Then hold off.”
I groan. “I can’t. Not for long.”
I hear him hiss, and then growl. “I’m doing it.”
“Doing what?” I ask. I don’t know who I am, right now. The words coming out of me are some other person. Some other Imogen who has phone sex with men I barely know.
“Touching myself.”
“Looking at the photo?”
“Yeah,” he says, through grated teeth. “And picturing that little glimpse of your pussy that I got the other day. That little glimpse has haunted my dreams ever since.”
“Have you done this before?” I ask. “Jerked off thinking about me?”
“Have you?”
“I asked first, but…yeah, I have. A couple times, actually.”
“I have too. I tried not to, but—after that day in your kitchen, you in that goddamned outfit? I couldn’t help it. I felt like a dirty jackass for using you like that, but god, you turn me on in a way I’ve never been turned on before.” He groans again, low and ragged.
“It doesn’t make you a dirty jackass, not if I don’t mind. And I don’t.” I’ve slowed the stimulator, but I’m still riding the edge. “Jesse, I need to—I can’t hold off much longer.” I hear a slick sound, and the knowledge of what that is makes me squirm and pant. “Now, Jesse. I need to come.”
