Page 41 of Shut Up and Score
GoldenSpiral23: Try me. I want to wreck you. Leave you hoarse from saying my name and fucking your throat.
The groan that leaves me isn’t subtle.
I slide my hand around myself, slow at first.Controlled. Attempting to pretend I’m not this close to unraveling from words alone.
I type one-handed, breath caught somewhere between amusement and desperate need.
Me: I’m already hard. Stroking slowly. Just once, up and down. Pretending it’s your mouth.
Pause.
Me: Fuck. I’m pretending too hard. You’re making a mess of me, and we haven’t even met.
Another pause. Then I add:
Me: Got anything for me to look at? Because, right now, all I’ve got is a fist and filthy imagination.
I send it, heart thudding, cock twitching in my grip.
Waiting.
Needing.
Already picturing what kind of photo might come through next—something close, teasing, warm skin, and dark shadows.
Not Colton, I remind myself again.
Not him. Just a stranger who knows how to say exactly what I need to hear.
The reply buzzes in almost instantly.
GoldenSpiral23: You first. Show me what I’ve been imagining.
My breath catches. He’s bold today. Good. So am I.
I bite my lip, angle the shot carefully—just enough to tease, but not enough to give anything fully away. Skin flushed. Piercing catching the light. Tattoo curling along my hip. My hand at the base in a silent invitation.
Send.
The read receipt pops up seconds later.
No words.
Just a single emoji.
*Fire emoji*
And then?—
*Shocked emoji*
I grin.
Me: Speechless? Guess I am dangerous.
The typing bubble dances.
I stretch out on my bed, muscles still aching from practice, but that ache has nothing on the one curling low in my stomach now.
