Page 75 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

His response made me smile, and the ache built between my legs. My fingers hesitated over my belt buckle, toying with the catch.

I could barely contain my excitement as another photo popped onto the screen.Skin. So much skin.Flynn’s pyjama bottoms were now conspicuously absent, and so was his underwear. Flynn’s hand rested on his cock, the base peeking out from beneath his thumb. He was fully erect—though I doubt it was because of my humour. He’d been stroking himself.

I swallowed hard, my own arousal surging. This photo wasn’t enough. I needed to see more, all of him. I wanted to see him touch himself, watch as he brought himself to the edge.

My hand moved quickly to my belt buckle, unfastening it. I slid my trousers and underwear down, my hardened length springing free. It was already flushed, slick with a bead of precum which I quickly swiped before rubbing fast circles on the sensitive head.

I closed my eyes, imagining Flynn’s cock rubbing against mine. The sounds he’d make. The thought sent dark heat coiling through my veins, and I let out a low groan.

Fuck.

I had been enjoying touching myself so much that I hadn’t replied to his last message. One hand kept up its firm strokes while the other typed with manic haste.

Well, for one, I’d rip that naughty hand of yours far away from what it shouldn’t be touching.

A stream of those ‘emojis’ with flushed faces appeared on my screen. I took that as a win. Then:

Oh yeah?

I could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it made mewanteven more. I continued to stroke myself, my grip tightening as my imagination painted glorious pictures of what was happening in the room a few doors down. Flynn’s body, his skin flushed with pleasure, his eyes closed in rapture. I pictured him lying on his back, his legs spread wide, his hand moving in slow, languid strokes over his cock. I imagined the way his lips would curl up into a soft smile as he touched himself, the way his eyelashes would flutter with each ragged breath. His body arching off the bed as he reached the peak of his pleasure, his muscles tensed, his fingers digging into the sheets. And I was there with him, my body pressed against his, my lips tracing the curve of his ear, my fingers intertwined with his as we reached the edge of oblivion together.

It was my turn to reply, and I’d already left it an age. I stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keys. Five centuries of existence, and here I was, fumbling like a schoolboy over how to compose an erotic message. Poetry would be preferable to this modern dance of digital desire.

What would he want to hear? What would make him writhe between those sheets, make his breath catch? The thought of him waiting for my response, perhaps growing uncertain at my delay, spurred me to action. I had to trust my instincts, let the hunger I felt for him guide my words.

Yes. And then I’d worship you properly—on my knees, taking you so deep you’d never think of another’s touch again. I’d claim every inch of you.

Eyes gluedto the screen, I waited anxiously for a reply that didn’t immediately come. Even more than another message, I’d trade anything for one more picture.

Preferably his face as he came, my name on his lips.

No wait, I wanted—needed—to see that cock of his in its entire glory.

My pace increased to frenetic levels, my toes curling.

But Flynn had gone silent, and I felt his absence like a missing tooth.

Just as I was about to message him again, I caught it—a tiny gasp, impossibly faint, muffled by multiple walls. It was as if my hearing had attuned to him and him alone, picking up the tremor in his breath, the subtle catch in his throat.

I reached for my phone.

Those sweet little sounds you’re making? I can hear them. You’re performing beautifully for me.

Want to hear even clearer?

My phone buzzed, and I didn’t even hesitate for a fraction of a second.

Obscene sounds burst out of the device, and I jammed speakerphone lightning fast. The wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by Flynn’s ragged breaths and desperate moans. It was a symphony of pleasure, and I was the captive audience.

“Fuck!” he said, sounding desperate, needy,wrecked. “Sebastián.”

Lord help me, the way he said my name almost made me break down those walls to get to him.

I brought my palm to my mouth, mustering all the saliva I could, then returned my hand to my rock-hard length.

“Flynn,” I rasped, teetering on the precipice of release. “Don’t stop. Let me hear every moment.” The words reeled out of me. “You’re perfection.” And then, because desire clouded all reason. “Tell me—would you rather feel me deep inside you, or bury yourself within me?”

“God,yes—both.” His voice wavered, his breath hitched. “Everything. Anything. Whatever youwant.”

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