Page 45 of Going Viral for Christmas
No. That’s a lie.
There was another release inside that gym. Just not mine.
I still can’t believe I caught Ava masturbating in a hotel locker room. The images of what she must’ve looked like inside that stall flood back in.
Ava’s flushed skin. Pursed lips. Her voice when she cried outmy name.
She said when I was lifting. I heard it again while she was inside that bathroom. And now it’s all I can hear. And see.
My hand slides down my stomach, fingers skimming the waistband of my pants.
I retract. I shouldn’t.
My cock’s rock-fucking-hard, and when I close my eyes, the visual is immediate.
Ava—breathless, head thrown back as her hand between her thighs, working her clit.
I know it’s real.
I heard it.
Isawit.
Before you judge me, know this: I wasn’t trying to be a creep. I’d doubled back to the gym two minutes after leaving to ask if she wanted to grab coffee. Or breakfast. Something normal. Something that isn’t staged, scripted, or buried in sarcasm. Something human.
When I walked in, the gym was empty. The women’s locker room door was cracked. I thought I heard a sound—soft, choked.
At first, I panicked, thought Ava might be hurt. Or sick. I called her name. No response.
So naturally, I pushed open the women’s locker room door.
There she was. Inside the stall, legs braced wide. The sounds she made were unmistakable. One hand was most likely clamped over her mouth, while the other punished her clit.
I backed out immediately. Fast. Silent. Adrenaline coursing through me as though I’d committed a crime witnessing it.
It certainly felt like one.
No matter how hard I try, the image won’t leave my brain. The heat. The desperation.
Now I’m stuck.
Hard as hell.
Mind unraveling.
Palm twitching, caught between guilt and obsession.
I want her.
But I shouldn’t have seen that.
Except I did.
Fuck me—I loved it.
My hand moves lower. Unthinking. Needing more.
Unzipping my pants, I push them down. My cock springs free, hot, heavy, leaking from the mental reel on repeat.
