Page 6 of Ripe & Ready
I can admit that I’ve dreamed of this. Teenage me would’ve sold his soul for this. But adult me? Adult me is teetering on the edge like the opening scene of a very regrettable porn.
And then it happens.
Oh God. He ruts against me.
Not a twitch. Not a fluke. A full, intentional grind.
Every system in my body logs off. My cock is already hard, pressed against my waistband and his hand is hovering dangerously close to the danger zone.
I have to leave. I have to get out of this bed before I ruin everything with a single, embarrassing moan and a pair of stained shorts. Because if he wakes up and realizes what just happened there’s no jungle deep enough to hide me.
I ease his arm off me, careful not to wake him, and slip out of bed slowly. My shorts aren’t doing me any favors, so I cup myself with one hand as I tiptoe to the bathroom like that’ll somehow disguise the full-blown problem I’ve got going on.
Once inside, I shut the door quietly, even though not slamming it won’t exactly restore my dignity. I brace myself against the sink, crank the faucet, and splash cold water on myface in an attempt to reboot my nervous system. It doesn’t work. Nothing about me resets.
One glance at the mirror confirms it. I’m a walking hormone and a half. Flushed, wide-eyed, and very clearly not okay.
I push my shorts down enough to breathe. Enough for me to think. It doesn’t help. Now my cock’s just out. Hard and exposed, and demanding attention.
My whole body is still thrumming from the way Derek’s warmth had wrapped around me, from how his hand had hovered so close to where I needed him. How he shifted against me in his sleep. How it felt like a dream until it wasn’t.
Gripping the counter, head down, I try to breathe through it. A quiet, frustrated groan breaks the silence. Maybe getting it together isn’t happening.
I’m definitely not going back out there until I pull myself together. One way or another.
So… I’ll do what any panic-stricken, love-addled man would do. I’ll fist my dick like it’s personally wronged me.
I spit into my palm, grip tight, and chase the high that’s been simmering in my gut since the moment he touched me. It’s quick. Desperate. Years of holding back bursting all at once. I pump harder, breath quickening, forehead slick.
I’m so close to the edge, and an unexpected knock at the door tips me straight into it. The surprise tears through me, raw and electric, like my organs are trying to claw their way out. I gasp, spine arching as pleasure tears through me, and I paint the damn bathroom like it’s a Jackson Pollock.
Caught somewhere between panic and denial, every part of me goes rigid
Hand still wrapped around myself, my release streaked across the sink, the counter, the goddamn mirror.
I want to die. Right here. Evaporate into the jungle mist only to exist as some cautionary tale they tell new guests at check-in: Don’t jerk off next to the mosquito soap, or you’ll be cursed forever. The man you love will definitely hear it!
“One minute!” I croak, voice embarrassingly high-pitched.
My legs go weak with panic as I scramble for anything remotely cloth-like. A hand towel? Great. It’s that or sacrifice my shorts and deal with the shame when I face him. I swipe frantically at the sink, the mirror, my stomach. Everywhere my disaster decided to decorate.
“Everything okay in there?” Derek’s voice is muffled through the door, still groggy.
“Yup! Fine! Just… uh… pooping!”
He pauses, and I swear there’s a quiet laugh before his footsteps retreat.
I sink down onto the closed toilet lid, still half-hard, mortified, and deeply aware that this man, this beautiful, perfect man, is twenty feet away and moments ago I came thinking about him.
And just to make it worse I think he heard the whole damn thing.
Regret? Immediate. Relief? Questionable.
3
We’re up early, but apparently, the gorillas are too.
Which… okay. I don’t know why that surprises me. I guess I didn’t think wild animals had routines? Like what do they even have to do all day? No jobs. No bills. No emails. If it were me, I’d be sleeping until noon, eating something unwashed, and emotionally checking out until sunset. But no. These gorillas? They have schedules.
