Page 80 of Ghost

“They won’t let me,” I said. “It’s porn. It’s for personal use. Just for me. I’ll pleasure myself while watching it.”

He lowered himself onto the seat cushion. “That was pretty awesome, by the way.”

“Getting a handy at noon?”

“Yep.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “After you give me a kiss, and I take a little nap. I’ll be ready to surf.”

I leaned over and kissed him, thankful that our relationship was so open and loving that I could choke his cock for research purposes and not have to worry about him taking exception to my ridiculous idea. My future with Porter was an open book, limited by nothing more than our imaginations, and my imagination was vast.

After repositioning myself beside his chair, I touched my phone’s screen with my thumb and started the Boomerang, which was nothing more than a ten-second video on loop.

On the video, Porter’s abs and chest were visible in the background, as was my hand stroking his cock. Two seconds into it, cum blasted from the tip, twice. Then, it repeated itself.

It was the most awesome, no-nonsense piece of pornography to ever exist. Brief, and to the point. I watched it play, repeatedly, a dozen times. I loved satisfying him sexually, and the video stood of proof of my abilities.

“UPS delivery,” a voice said from my left side.

“OhmyGod!” I screeched, nearly jumping out of my skin.

I hadn’t even heard him come up the steps. A mere five feet from us, the UPS delivery man stood with a box in his hands.

Without opening his eyes or covering his still semi-rigid dick, Porter raised his left hand and pointed at the space beside his chair. “Leave it right there.”

“Need a signature, Sir.”

“Got a pen?” Porter asked.

“You can sign with the stylus.”

Naked as the day he was born, Porter leaned forward, opened his eyes, and accepted the electronic signature pad. After signing it, he stood and handed the device to the stone-faced delivery man.

The man handed Porter a brown box. “Have a nice day.”

“I’m in the process of it,” Porter replied with a nod.

While my phone continued to re-play the money shot video, I gawked at the transaction in disbelief. Only Porter could do such a thing without an ounce of emotion or sliver of embarrassment.

He handed me the box. “If I can do that without turning red, you can try and surf. All it requires is a little confidence. You’re a badass, Abby. Get out there, get on a board, and be a badass.”

Porter had a way of building my confidence through compliments. Two years in our future, I’d be overflowing with self-assurance, I was sure of it. I grinned at the possibilities that were on our relationship’s horizon.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go check another one off the list.”