Page 27 of Riot's Thorn
PARKER
Oh, god. He’smasturbating. And is that. . .? Oh, god, he’s pierced. Silver balls circle the head of his penis and gleam as his fist strokes up and down. His grip is tight, almost painful-looking, but there’s not a hint of discomfort in his expression. He’s definitely enjoying himself.
My brain screams at me to turn and run back to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, but my feet are cemented. He’s naked save for the boxer briefs pulled down to just under his ass, exposing his balls that are drawn tight and resting on top of the cotton fabric. But it’s his dick I can’t stop looking at. Besides the piercings, it’s thick and veined, with a prominent crown that glistens with pre-cum. How would it feel to touch him there? To put my mouth on him?
He paused his stroking for a brief second when he first spotted me, but I think he takes the fact I didn’t scream and run as consent to continue. Is it? Why am I still here?
The hand that’s not strangling his manhood rubs across his chest, and I see more piercings, one through each of his nipples. I’d always considered unconventional body modifications to be unattractive and trashy, but standing here in front of this man, I can assure you, they’re sexy as hell.
His panting breaths and the slick sound of each stroke sound through the room, and I’m certain he’s about to come. I meet his gaze but quickly look away. Staring into his eyes feels more intimate than watching the mesmerizing way the muscles in his abdomen tighten into distinct ripples and the movement of his hand as it increases its pace.
“Fuck,” he groans, stretching out the word as he grips his cock tight and squeezes, milking himself. Ropes of white cum shoot up his abdomen and chest, pooling between his pecs and abdominal walls.
The sudden silence in the room breaks the trance, and the reality of the situation slams into me like a ton of bricks. Oh, god. What did I just do? My cheeks heat, and I dart into the bathroom in shame. Slamming the door, I sink to the tiled floor and hold my head in my hands.
Shit. Shit. Shit. How embarrassing. I just stood there and watched him like a creeper. Each time I think this situation can’t get worse, I’m proven wrong. I can’t even blame him this time. Nope, this was all me.
But I’ve never seen a man do that in real life, and it was so much more arousing than the few times I watched porn. I’m ashamed to admit my panties are soaked and my sex is aching. It wouldn’t take much to get me to come—just a couple swipes over my clit, and I’m certain I’d explode.
I jump to my feet, pacing. No, I can’t do that. He’d know, and things were already going to be uncomfortable between us. My face flames just thinking about getting into bed next to him after that. The urge to flee this house reaches all-new heights, but I’m trapped. There’s no way out.
I huff. Come to think of it, the only reason I’m here is because he won’t let me leave. That means nothing that happens while I’m here is my fault. I can’t help that there’s only one bedroom,and besides, he’s the one who decided to whip his junk out, knowing I’d be right back.
Right now, I need to put my big girl panties on and go out there with my head held high. It wasn’t my fault I saw him in a compromising position. He should’ve shut the door if he wanted privacy.
Standing tall, I leave the bathroom and reenter the bedroom to find Riot on his back, the covers pulled up to his hips, leaving his chest on display. One hand is under his head, the other resting on his stomach, and he’s staring at the ceiling. I flip the light off and crawl into bed, turning away from him and teetering on the edge of the mattress. The process is too domestic for a captor and captee.
“I’d appreciate it if you were more discreet with your private time,” I say, my voice strong and confident, even though I’m dying inside.
“Why?” he asks, and I don’t think he’s being sarcastic. The question sounds genuine.
“Because I don’t want to see it.”
“You didn’t tell me to stop.”
“I wasn’t expecting it. I was shocked.” I defend myself, even though I don’t think he’s accusing me of anything.
“I couldn’t tell. Your expression was confusing to me.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Maybe you’re the one who needs glasses.”
“I don’t. My vision is perfect.”
“Yeah, well, next time I’ll make it perfectly clear.”
It’s quiet for a minute before he says, “I liked you watching me.”
A slight thrill runs through me, and I shake it away. Is it too early for Stockholm Syndrome to set in? Because I can’t think of another reason why that does something for me.
“I’m not your girlfriend or wife.”
“I know who you are.” He rolls onto his side and pulls me against him. I just used his soap when I showered, but it smells so much better on him. It’s warmer, or maybe muskier? Oh, god. Is it his semen I’m smelling? Are there pheromones in semen?
“You don’t need to hold me if it’s like you say and there’s no way out.” A shiver runs down my spine at the feel of his warm breath against the back of my neck. I should’ve let my hair down after my shower, but it’s too late now.
“I’m not holding you because I’m worried you’ll get away.”
“Then why?” I look over my shoulder to find his eyes closed and his face relaxed. Without the hard lines and severe expressions, he looks younger.
