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This time…
Eyes screwed shut once more, I summon more images—memories—not just from earlier, but from all the times before.
Biting my lip, I stroke faster, harder, remembering the curves molding to my hands. The taste of her, sweet and musky. The way she arched her slim, delicate neck, rosy lips parted with a choked back moan…
When she could no longer contain her sounds, I kissed her—hard. So hard, it stifled our breaths, leaving us gasping by the time we crash-landed in a heap of sticky, messy wetness, and sweltering, smothering heat that cloyed the room.
“F-fuck,” I chatter, stroking my thumb over my crown. That’s it. Fuckkkk.
My balls draw up tight, and I suck my lower lip into my mouth, thrusting into my fist.
It happens insidiously—the way the images in my head shift.
Starting first with the eyes, and then the neck, and then the chest.
Wrong, so wrong…
But by the time I even think that, it’s already too late.
My mouth stretches open on a silent gasp—a scream.
Stars dance behind my eyelids, outlining the sharp edges and blunted curves of freckled shoulders, and the planes of a smooth chest. A clenched, flat stomach…
And then it’s a perfectly rounded thrust-out ass, fabric molded to its shape like a second skin, leaving practically nothing to the imagination.
The heat in my groin cranks up to boiling levels, leaving nothing but chills raking across the rest of my body.
My abs clench, rippling, arms flexing, jerking, right along with my hips.
I’m so close, so close?—
The figure in my fantasy turns around. Before I can fully lift my gaze.
A happy trail.
A bulge.
Fuck! I scream soundlessly into the bathroom, my entire body quaking as I explode into my waiting palm.
I tear the other one away from the sink, not missing the red line across the middle from where the edge of the counter dug in, and quickly reach down, catching what slips between my fingers.
Blinking hard, I take big gulps of air, focusing on the faucet so as not to see myself in the mirror as I come down from one of the most intense fucking orgasms I’ve ever had, one from my own hand at that.
“Holy shit,” I murmur soundlessly.
My hands are shaking when I thrust them in the sink, and use my elbow to turn on the faucet. The water slowly turns hot—scalding hot—and I wince, quickly flicking on the other faucet.
Shaking my head, I swallow a couple times. My dick still juts out, having not softened yet, flushed and sticky and smeared with soap.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, and strip down, before heading for the tub, and turning on the shower head. Letting it heat up, I grab a towel from the linen closet, and go to throw it over the hook next to the bathtub, when my gaze catches and locks on my reflection.
I barely even recognize the guy staring back at me.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask him.
My reflection’s eyes turn glassy. His Adam’s apple bobs. He’s shaking his head.
He’s as at a loss as I am.
