Page 60 of Signed, I'm Yours!
“Excuse me?” I blink with a grimace. “Are you calling me crazy?”
“No. Never said that. I just said if you’re in that much pain in the mornings, you should see your physician.”
“Supervillains don’t have physicians,” I tell him.
“Is that why their mortality rate is so high?”
“You’re so funny,” I snort.
“Thank you. I’m here all week.” He takes a bow, and is it my fault that when he stands back up, I catch sight of his not-so-little Little Jack?
It doesn’t take much more than that and a little lip-biting to remember exactly how not-so-little he felt inside me all night long.
“What are you doing up so early anyway? Don’t tell me. You’ve got a supervillain Zoom meeting to attend.”
I look up at him and blow raspberries.
“No. That’s on Sunday mornings after service. I just thought I’d make you coffee in bed.”
I step to the side and present him with the espresso machine behind me.
“You were?” He smiles.
“Of course.” I turn around and get back to making his coffee.
As the espresso pours out of the nozzle and straight into the cup, I feel two hands wrap around me and a whole mountain of man presses against my back.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone’s smitten,” he whispers in my ear, and I bite my tongue.
That’s my fault for telling him I was trying to be nice. I should have told him I was making coffee for me instead. Now, I have to be a subject of his mockery?—
Wait a minute.
That doesn’t sound like mockery.
And it certainly doesn’t feel like mockery rising between my legs.
“Me? Smitten?” I pretend I haven’t noticed, but how could I not? Silk is a very thin fabric. I could count the veins on his length if I tried.
“Oh, sorry. Do supervillains not get smitten?”
I roll my eyes, and he turns me around, leaving no doubt of what I felt between my legs.
And not only is he hard in broad daylight, which literally never happens with all the other straight boys and some of the gay ones, too, but he’s sliding down.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and my pants fall to the floor around my ankles.
“Thanking you. For the coffee.” He looks up at me, puts his mouth around my soft but quickly hardening cock, and smiles.
“But…ungh…I haven’t served it yet.” I grab the kitchen counter behind me for dear life and take deep breaths.
Is this really happening, or am I dreaming again?
“But you will so…I’m thanking you in advance.” And how can a guy argue with that?
So I stand there, weak in the knees, watching the straight Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes suck my supervillain cock like he’s addicted.
Yup. Definitely a dream. Right?
