I shouldn’t.
Brooks: My dick is now hard.
I shouldn’t have.
But I did.
I’m fucking horny.
And lonely.
And wanting the one person the universe has decided I can’t have.
Henley: Show me.
I sit up straight.
Brooks: For real?
Henley: I want to see.
I glance around my hotel room, certain I’m being fucking played.
The thick line of my cock is visible through the white cotton of my Calvin Kleins, and I shrug. Grabbing the granite line, I angle my phone, taking a photo and sending it over.
Henley: Take it out, Brooks.
Henley: I. WANT. TO. SEE.
I swallow.
A dick pic. I smirk.
Brooks: See what?
This is fun.
Sexting. Who would’ve fucking thought?
Henley: How hard *I* make you.
Reaching into my boxers, I grab hold, stroking myself once or twice, groaning aloud.
I’m so fucking turned on right now.
I’d give anything for Henley to be here. In this room. Her beautiful lips kissing my crown. Licking the droplet of cum beading at my head.
Ensuring I get a decent angle, precum included, I do as she asks, sending her an explicit image of my overeager cock.
Henley: Jesus, Brooks.
Brooks: You like?
Henley: I want.
Brooks: Are you drunk?
Henley: Tipsy. And alone. And horny.