Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Mace…” I murmur, padding closer to her bedroom door. She could be in pain, and my fucked-up head, which is often controlled by the one between my legs, isn’t hearing things right.
The door creaks when I push it open, but since I brace the hinges, it isn’t loud enough to wake Macy. She is still asleep as I left her, but her cheeks are flushed, hiding some freckles, and a spicy scent mingles with her hair products.
My boxer shorts act like they’re made from titanium when the moan I heard seconds ago rumbles through my ears again. Macy’s moans are as erotic in her dreams as they are in real life. They have my boxers pitching a tent and make my blood hotter than lava.
As her plump lips part to suck in a desperate breath, her thighs press together before her legs scissor. Her subtle movements cause the blanket to shift from the edge of her nightgown, which now rests around her abdomen, yet the motions are gentle enough not to disturb her sleep.
Her ecstasy-riddled face and flushed body are an enticing visual that grows more erotic when they leave no doubt about the wickedness of the dream she is having. Her dream is as viciously deviant as the thoughts that rolled through my head last night when she moaned at my touch, and they have my temperature rising to a never-before-reached level.
“Fuck,” I murmur when it dawns on me that I’m eyeballing my friend having an erotic dream, like a creep with no morals.
Before the head between my legs can demand the floor, I twist away and race for the bathroom.
“Fuck,” I curse again when there’s no mistaking who Macy is dreaming about.
My name has never sounded so carnal, and I am usually front and present when it’s toppling from a woman’s mouth while she is in ecstasy.
I strip out of my boxer shorts with urgency, then step into the shower without checking the water temperature. I need it freezing. Icy-cold barbs piercing through my cock may be the only thing capable of taking care of the throbbing rod between my legs.
Water cascades over me. It washes away the sweat clinging to my skin, but it does little to calm the aches of my cock. I’m hard enough to drill through Antarctica, and confident that a quick rubdown will be the only thing capable of suffocating the urge to turn Macy’s dream into a reality.
Against the screaming protests of my head, I grip my dick in a determined hold, strangling it of its uncalled thoughts. My mind doesn’t stop racing. It keeps replaying Macy’s moans before pondering how much better they’d sound when heard up close.
My heavy breaths switch from eagerness to frustration when the glide of my hand down my cock doesn’t conjure up the images I usually summon while masturbating. They’re not of Cameron’s flirty grin when she sucked my dick, or the teasing gleam her eyes got when she refused to let me finish down her throat. I imagine a raven-haired woman who seems shyer than her sultry looks would suggest, and how her body fit mine perfectly.
Again, I fist my dick at the base, willing for some sense of normality to return before I make a mistake I can’t take back.
Nothing works. Just Macy’s rumble of my name has me edgy enough to come on the spot. My cock is leaking pre-cum, and no amount of coercion will deflate it.
Pissed, I give my shaft a handful of violent jerks. I force it through a tight fist, refusing to surrender without first issuing it some pain for its insubordination.
“Fuck.” My cock is even harder now, as ready to go as my nostrils when they catch the faintest scent of Macy’s shampoo in the air. She didn’t wash her hair last night. The scent stems from her hair tickling my chest all night.
Seven hours—Seven. Whole. Fucking. Hours.—Macy slept in my arms.
That’s a record, both before and after Cameron’s abduction.
This should feel wrong, but a pleasing zap rockets through my balls when my thumb gathers a droplet of pre-cum from the crest of my cock. I use its silky smoothness to quicken my pumps as the thought of stopping this train before it crashes circles the drain along with my morals.
While increasing the pressure on the vein feeding my cock, I close my eyes and part my lips. My breaths are desperate and needy, as out of control as my strokes. My heavy pants make it seem as if the shower water is scorching hot. They fog the mirror and the shower tiles, leaving the imprint of my hand in the condensation, as the sensation roars through me, forcing me to steady my shakes before I tumble.
With my head hanging beneath the heavy spray, I widen my stance and then rock my dick in and out of my hand. The suds of Macy’s body wash and the inane amount of pre-cum leaking from the crown make my pumps frictionless. My cock’s glides are smooth and seamless, and they soon have me sprinting toward release.