Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I glance down at the obvious outline of my dick, hating that Oskar knows exactly how easily he can play me.
Though, it’s not like I’ve ever hidden that I’m attracted to him. Getting hard over a guy and acting on it are two very different things.
But as a low buzz fills the air, and the snap of a lid clicking open echoes off the tile, the line separating those two things gets real blurry. My cock twitches, and then a soft curse from the bathroom makes me throw all caution to the wind.
I drop back onto the bed, flick my belt open, and shove my hand down the front of my pants. The relief is immediate but nowhere near enough.
Oskar groans, louder this time.
“I can hear you,” I call out. My tone is dry, as though I’m doing the roommate-ly thing and giving him the heads-up, but it’s all bullshit. I want him to know I can hear because I know exactly what that knowledge will do to him.
“Oh, yeah,” Oskar gasps and makes no attempt to silence it. If anything, his moans and gasps get steadily louder. And sure, vibrators feel incredible, but they’re not that incredible.
I squeeze my cock, begging the damn thing to deflate. It’s not right to think of Oskar bent over, pants around his ankles, ass stretched around the vibrator as he fucks his fist. It’s not right to picture how his cock would look close up. Or what that perfect hockey butt looks like from that angle. Or how it would feel molding itself around my shaft.
My hips give a pathetic jolt, cock desperate for friction. I strangle it tighter, lock up my limbs to prevent any unwelcome movement, and try to ignore the throbbing in my balls. The deep, gravelly noises coming from the bathroom really aren’t helping my situation.
No one would blame me for rubbing one out. Surely. I mean, first off, no one would ever actually find out. And second, Oskar is … Oskar. Easily the hottest man I’ve ever met. It’s impossible to take one look at him and not be picturing sex. His eyes hold a thousand ways to undress you with one look, and every piece of ink on his body is designed to draw you in. Make you look closer.
And yes, I’ve looked closely.
Approving those photos of him was one of my favorite days on the job, and those words la petite mort are burned into my mind. I envision following them down, as vividly as if he was right in front of me, warm skin under my lips until it disappears under the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock.
My hand has started moving without my consent, but when I try to stop, it won’t listen.
This is messed up. This is so unprofessional.
I snort. Sure. Because I’ve been the epitome of professional this entire time.
Still … with as horny as I am, I’ll never get any work done, so it only makes sense to get on with it. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with Oskar. We’re not touching; we’re not even in the same room. For all the jokes about treating him like a teenager, we’re not actually fumbling hormonal messes. We’re grown men with needs.
And I need to get off.
If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around, does it make a noise?
If a Lane comes his brains out and no one knows, did it even happen?
“Oh, fuck yes,” Oskar moans, and this time, it sounds a lot less staged. His sexy tone has me opening my pants and pulling my cock out before I can talk myself down. The relief hums through my bones. I’m already leaking and so goddamn hard that I know it isn’t going to take me long, but Oskar has a head start.
The constant buzzing and all those delicious noises he’s making tells me he’s getting close, and if I don’t want him to find out about this—and I don’t because I’d never hear the end of it—I need to finish first.
I roll my palm over the head of my cock, smearing the trickle of precum down my needy shaft. Each stroke is firm and fast, thumb flicking over the tip on every other pump, and it doesn’t take long for my toes to clench. I spread my legs farther, hips pistoning up into my hand as I listen to Oskar’s raw soundtrack filling the room, trying—and failing—not to picture him on top of me. Riding me. Taking complete fucking control as he gets us to the edge.
I bite my fist to hold back my own noises, not wanting anything to get between me and the vocal show Oskar’s giving me. It would be rude to not appreciate his performance, after all.
“I’m so close,” he gasps. “So … close …”