Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
I think about pouring myself a drink, but it’s too early for me. I’ll just end up with a headache if I have one now. No, I need to do something else to get my mind off things. I change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. For a little bit, I try cleaning for a distraction. However, I have always lived in a pretty minimalist fashion and so there isn’t much to do. Television doesn’t hold my attention. Reading certainly doesn’t. Nothing is enough to get the anger off my chest, or Wren out of my mind.
After another wave of horrible, but delicious, intrusive thoughts about my encounters with Wren, I’m hard. For a second, I’m annoyed and contemplate working out to ignore it and hopefully get rid of it. It doesn’t feel right to think about it right now. To have a raging boner in the middle of all this mess makes me feel sickeningly like a typical guy.
And yet, as much as try to deny the thoughts, they are still there. The longer they linger, the more tempting spending some quality time with myself is becoming. Why not? I have nothing to do, it’ll release some endorphins, and maybe I’ll somehow manage to feel better…
Sitting down on my couch with my blinds drawn and some music going, I tilt my head back and bring my walls down to let the memory of Wren in. I see her auburn hair, her brilliant green eyes. The sensual energy that radiates from her with seemingly no effort. Does she know she’s so beautiful, so enchanting? I think she does, and it only makes her that much more desirable to me. She oozes confidence, competence, beauty, sexuality—and just about anything else I could want in a woman. Yet I’ve managed to ruin it to where she’s only ever going to be a wet dream.
Stop. Why am I ruining my own time like this?
Shaking my head, I clear away the thoughts and allow the thoughts of her to come to me. As I think about her lips, my hand slowly drops to my lap. The way her lips part as she looks back at me as we quietly collide into one another again and again in the dressing room… I grope myself through the fabric of my sweatpants. I know she had been dying to make any sound at all, completely entrenched in pleasure and passion. Just like me. If she was here, we wouldn’t have to keep it down. I bet she would straddle me here on the couch and I would rock her hips as I draw senseless shapes into the skin of her neck. Little needy breaths would pass her lips as I keep her from being unable to fully sink down onto my cock.
Uneasy breaths of my own are escaping me as my arousal builds and I withdraw myself from the confines of my pants. I’m thinking of her gripping to me, groaning and needing more of me as I begin stroking myself; though I only give attention to my tip, wanting to make the teasing feel real. It wouldn’t be until she fully took charge, pushing me to lay flat on the couch that I would finally give in. Her hands would be all over me as I grope her breasts, and she finally glides down to my hilt. Though, I think Wren would give me a taste of my own medicine. She would ride me slowly, almost agonizingly. I’m stroking in the same rhythm I think she would be moving.
Zzzzz. Zzzzz. Zzzzz. Zzzzz.
My phone is ringing, of course it is. Taking it out of my pocket, I silence the call and toss it to the other end of the couch without ever opening my eyes. Whatever it is, it can wait ten minutes. Sighing, I try and clear my thoughts and get back into the little fantasy I’ve been building up. And yet, just as I start again, I can hear the distinct sound of the vibration through the cushions. Ripping my eyes open, I groan and stare at the ceiling. There’s a short list of people who would bother to call me twice in a row and I know I need to answer it. In attempt to get rid of my erection, my mind plays reels of washing dishes, doing inventory at work, and any other mundane task that I can think of.
By the time the call ends and starts again, I feel prepared enough to talk to whoever it is. To little surprise, I pick up the phone to see that it’s Hanna calling. “Finnnnalllly, you pick up!” she hollers as soon as I lift the phone to my ear. “I’ve been calling for hourssssss.” It’s clear by her volume and slight slur that she’s already had a few drinks.