Page 7 of Where the Blacktop Ends

I shake my head, mentally smacking myself for diving right back into the gutter.

Already sat on his dick once tonight! Might as well slide it on in!

Bending down, I feel around the ground searching frantically for my towel. My fingers finally catch on to the scratchy cotton, and as I stand back up, I notice he’s moved a bit closer. Still maintaining a respectful distance, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from locking onto the outline of… well,that.

I mean, how could I not stare at this point?

He might be doing a great job of keeping it together right now, but my thoughts are anything but mature, especially with that third leg swinging around. It’senormous.

Does he have a health condition that causes it to be this large?

Would it fit?

Is it broken and that’s why it’s so big?

Before I can stop myself, the last part slips from my lips out loud. I clamp a hand over my mouth, mortified.

He chuckles again, a deep, throaty sound that sends vibrations straight through my naked body, making it impossible not to feel it everywhere.

“No, it’s not broken. Think it’ll work just fine. And thank you for your concern. It’ll fit.”

My eyes widen as they shift upward then downward again. I notice his hand has moved there now and it looks like he’s gripping himself at the base, holding it outright as if he’s intending on showing me that it still works and it’s not damaged. It’s definitely not hard, but it’s certainly not flaccid anymore. Even with his large hands wrapped around the shaft, the proportions seem off.

Hefty! Hefty! Hefty!!!

“Did it…” I swallow because I know it’s a ridiculous question, but word vomiting and making jokes is my go-to when I flirt and don’t know what else to say.I would have felt if it had, wouldn’t I have? Right? Right?“Did it go inside of me?” I stage whisper.

He laughs, hard this time, not holding back or trying to hide it. It’s a deep, baritone sound with the slightest bit of rasp.

I love it even more than I thought I could.

“Trust me, you’d know if it did. You wouldn’t be standing properly.”

Yeah, yeah, that makes sense.

Fuck that’s hot. Big dick confidence.

I wet my lips, still watching him gripping the base and wanting to replace my hand with his and squeeze. Just to indulge in the feel of it filling with blood. The expansion of the flesh as it inflames and blooms for me. Like my own, personal stress ball.

“Okay, well, sorry again. I’ll let the front desk know the lights are out back here so that they can send maintenance to fix it.” I shift my body and try to look away from his dick. He’s still staring at me, still naked, and when my gaze drops again, his hand is moving upward now into long, painfully slow strokes that I feel like I have to be imagining.

“No problem. Just… maybe next time check the door before you open it and feel around on the seat before you drop your towel. Would hate for you to sit down on the lap of someone who’s a part of that party out there.”

“You’re not with the singles mixer group?”

“No,” his voice is firm with no room for question.

Okay... judgmental.

The steam has cleared just enough for me to make out his facial features. Or maybe he’s moved closer, or maybe I have—either way, neither of us has made any attempts to leave and it feels like I’m being sucked inward. Or maybe he wants me to go but is too polite to say so.

With the fog lifting, I can finally see him better. Deep brown or black hair slicked back, likely from sweat. Lips soft and full, surrounded by a dark mustache and short beard. Matching deep brown eyes and a chiseled jawline lead down to a sharp, strong nose.

He’s wearing a smirk, the kind that’s both intimidating and captivating, full of confidence and knowing that reveals a small dimple in his right cheek. I like it. One thing that throws off the otherwise perfect symmetry in this god-like guy. Our eyes meet for the first time, and I instinctively straighten up, refusing to be the one to back down.

Maybe it’s the champagne from earlier, or my self-imposed summer of celibacy, but suddenly, all I can think about is how those lips would feel against mine. How it’d feel to touch tongues and fall apart underneath his strong body.

He’s close—so close I’d only have to reach up a little to kiss him. I can smell the scent of the whiskey he must have been consuming before he came in on his breath and I think of how that kiss would taste. Like a whiskey wet dream.

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