Page 43 of Bad Pucking Roommate

I watch my hand slide up and down my length the way I’m picturing his moving on his shaft. “Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like it better when you do it.”

“Why?” It’s barely a whisper.

“I like the way your hand feels wrapped around me. I like the way you lick your lips when I start leaking, and how your eyes get sort of hooded and heavy when they travel from my face to my dick.” The imagery has me biting back a groan. “Tell me. Tell me what you feel.”

“I like the way you feel in my hand. Rigid and strong, but still smooth. Velvety almost. Except at the tip. That’s silky. Delicate.” Justus’s tender voice caresses me through the phone, his soft words traveling like the brush of fingers over my skin, and despite the fact they aren’t explicit, they’re intensely erotic.

“God, you’re such a tease,” I grunt.

“I’m not even touching you.”

“I know, but you’re talking about jacking me all slow, and I want more.”

“Take more then. Pretend I’m squeezing harder. Moving faster.”

I tighten my grip and increase my pace, imagining it’s Justus’s hand on me instead of my own. And that it’s his dick in my fist, getting hotter and harder the faster I stroke it. “Feels so good. Now what?”

“Swipe your thumb over the tip, just like I do. And pump your hips. Really chase my fist.” He’s breathing as heavily as he does when I have my hands on him, and I love the idea that we’re touching ourselves in tandem, experiencing the same high.

“Fuck, I love your hands on me.” The admission is driven by the fantasy, but there’s truth behind it too. The gentle, wonderous exploration when he seems to map every contour. The raw strength of his touch when he’s worked up. He doesn’t hold back, taking my body to places it’s never been. Sex has never been so satisfying, which is crazy since we haven’t even technically had sex yet. I might want to change that.

A soft whimper pulls me from my daydream.

“Are your balls getting heavy?” My mind wanders to how they swell when he’s on the verge of release. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes.”

“With me then. Jerk it hard. Squeeze out every last drop.”

Bracing my feet on the bed, I drive my hips upward, imagining I’m thrusting into him. My fist slaps against my pelvis as Justus pants in my ear, and the carnal symphony pushes me closer to the brink. When a muffled cry joins the mix I lose it, shooting all over the shirt I didn’t have time to take off before lust overtook me.

Still holding my dick, my feet slip off the mattress and hit the floor. My chest rises and falls heavily as ripples of pleasure spread from my groin to my limbs, and I loosen my grip without letting go of my spent cock, pretending it’s Justus’s cupped protectively in my hand. I’m not sure why that feels comforting, I just know my hand has a tendency to linger on him even after we’ve finished, and I think he might like it.

“We forgot to Facetime,” Justus gasps. “I’m so sorry. We can go again. How long do you need to recover?”

Dazed and sated, I feel my eyelids start to drift shut. “I think I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm,” I hum affirmatively. “I think I’m empty. Gonna crash now.”

Justus says good luck—or goodnight—I’m not really sure which, and the line goes silent as my body gives in to the pull of sleep. With that damn goofy smile still on my face.

Chapter sixteen

Justus

“You remember I’m not supposed to look at screens, right?” I ask Xander and Tripp as they brush past me and come inside.

“Duh, why else would we be here?” Tripp heads to the fridge to deposit his six pack while I look to Xander for clarification.

“You can listen while we watch, and we’ll do a better job of telling you what’s happening than the announcers.” Since Xander’s dad is our coach and he’s more knowledgeable about the game than the average person, I have to agree it makes sense. If they can get the TV on.

“I was going to listen to the game on my laptop, but if you can figure out how to turn on the TV that’d be great.”

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