Page 45 of Roleplay at Randy's
Is he writing about us? About me?
What would happen if I turned? Met his waiting mouth with mine? Sunk my hands under his shirt? Into his pants? Would he take my kiss and turn it into something more? Would he let me touch him until my fingers ache? Could I taste him and still hold this fragile alliance of ours together?
He writes fantasies; that’s what he told me.
Fantasies about us?
I want to read more. I want to understand what he wants, because it sounds a lot like what I want, and if he wants this as badly as I do …
Could I risk that?
Could I risk hurting him because we’re both so blindly in lust with each other?
I’m going to do something that isn’t smart. It might even be considered a breach of privacy. But I need to know. I need to put us in a firm box in my head and stop letting these feelings leak all over everything.
I take out my phone and download the subscription service app that he uses, and then I search up the username on his screen.
Nothing shows up, so I click through the settings until I find the pesky ‘Hide Adult Content’ switch and turn it off. Try again.
There we go.
This time, I close his laptop and gently move it to the coffee table, and then I walk to my room and shut the door. The sound of the shower is still going, so I sit on the edge of the bed and scroll through the one page on the internet I absolutely shouldn’t.
Matty’s Midnight Musings
Not everything is locked under a paywall. There’s plenty of mundane, waxy prose under a free subscription tier. I belatedly realize he’ll probably get a notification about me joining, but whether he thinks a new subscriber simply namedLee29is anything special is yet to be seen.
He posts a couple of times a week, and just when I think the lowest tier is all of his sweet ramblings—which I don’tmind; I always enjoy seeing Matty’s soft side—I scroll across a picture posted a few days ago that makes it hard to breathe.
Matty is lying on the couch—my couch,our couch—in the t-shirt I loaned him. It’s hiked up above his hips, showing off his smooth, toned stomach just above the band of his boxers. They’re a pair of deep red tight ones that conform to himverywell. He’s got one hand scrunching the shirt over his abs, and the other is cupping his crotch, thumb positioned over a peak in the material.
Is that his dick?
As sexy as he is in the photo, it’s the expression on his face that gets me. His cheeks are stained with blush, lips parted and a little puffy like he’s been kissing someone when I know it’s just from the way he chews them. His eyes are a little wet but not sad—no, they’re tears of frustration.
I want to save it to my phone, make it my damn background, but I don’t know how, and I wouldn’t dare. Not without his permission.
And then I read the caption.
Is it bad I keep hoping he’ll come out and catch me? See me rubbing myself raw and offer to play with me instead? His lips felt so good on my neck. I can only imagine what they’d feel like around my cock. It’s been years since anyone has taken me into their mouth. What would you do, Lee? How would you make me come if I offered myself up to you? Fuck. I’m too horny for my own good.
Sex hasn’t been on the table for me in a while. Even moments of self pleasure are few and far between.
Right now, my cock is so hard that it hurts. My jeans are stretched uncomfortably tight, and it doesn’t matter that I’ll have to get dressed again in an hour. I flick open the buttonand shove them down my thighs, shaking them off onto the floor.
A sticky wetness clings to my thigh, and I grip my aching length in a tight fist. Pleasure rolls through me, and I lay down on the pillows, head thrown back and eyes closed.
Matty has crossed my mind in plenty of broad sexual senses. He’s hot, excruciatingly so, and watching him dance and sass me around can be downright erotic.
I’d never considered what it would be like to go beyond deep kisses and heavy petting.
I’m thinking about it now, though.
So is he.
It’s safe to say this is no longer just a crush—I’m in full blown lust with Matty Nichols.
The shower is still running, and it hits me that while I may have been joking, thisisMatty’s time to himself. Taking the edge off—especially before he anticipates me invading his space on the couch—makes a whole lot of sense.
