Page 33 of Shut Up and Score
Moan my name.
Jesus. It’s a text. A simple line. But he may as well have been whispering it against my ear, breath hot and mouth even hotter with how it makes me feel.
I shouldn’t be this into it. I shouldn’t even be doing this. But I can’t stop. Don’t want to. Not when it feels this…intoxicating.
Another message lights up the screen.
SmokeScreen77: I’ll be good if you want me to.
Or not.
Your call.
I bite back a groan, dragging my hand down my stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of my sweats. Fuck.
I’m hard again.
He keeps going.
SmokeScreen77: But I am curious what the rest of you looks like when you’re this turned on.
My breath catches. I shift, trying to find enough friction without losing my mind.
Then the kicker:
SmokeScreen77: Show me what I do to you. No pressure. (Except for the one in your pants.)
I actuallylaugh. It’s hoarse and short, but it breaks through the nerves enough for me to move.
“This is insane,” I mutter to myself, even as I palm my cock through my sweats.
I’m alone. Thank God. No Caleb. No dumb commentary or knocks at the door. Just me, a guy who has no idea who I really am, and a painfully hard problem I’m not trying that hard to solve.
My hand dips under the waistband again. I stroke slowly, eyes closed, pretending it’s his voice in my ear. His mouth on me. His hand guiding mine.
The tension builds faster than I expect.
I lift the phone. Snap one more picture—wider this time. My cock, swollen and flushed, gripped in my hand. The tip glistens with pre-cum, veins standing out as if they’re begging.
I almost don’t send it.
But then I do.
Me: You’re dangerous. But here’s more of what you do to me. Hope you’re as hard as I am.
I hit send.
Then drop the phone beside me and stare at the ceiling like I’ve officially lost my goddamn mind.
But I’m still smiling.
The second the message goes out, I regret it. Not because I don’t mean it, but because now I’m exposed. Literally. Figuratively. Digitally. At least my face isn't attached.
My chest rises and falls too fast. I’m still gripping myself, half-hard and fully losing it.
Then the screen lights up again.
SmokeScreen77: Jesus. You trying to kill me? Because I’m two seconds from making a mess thinking about your hand on your cock.
