Page 16 of Dangerous Pursuit
He nods again, and doesn't hesitate this time as his frame stretches and he reaches his phone-free hand somewhere off the screen, to the side.
My eyes focus against my will.
Jesus.
Beads of sweat form on my forehead, and I'm not sure I can attribute them to the temperature inside the claustrophobic shower stall. From his outstretched neck, to his pecks that have no business being as sculptured as they are for a guy his size, to the abs, visible even when he's not flexing, to his thick, deliciously looking dick, resting against his lower abdomen, amidst light-brown, neatly trimmed pubes. I allow myself exactly three seconds to appreciate it, its size, its color, the plumpness of the head before I focus back on Xander's face. I will never look at it again.
And no, I won't dream about it either. Ever.
"Now what?" he asks, purple bottle of lube in hand, and I can already hear the change in his voice. I can tell he's trying.Trying to tease, trying to sound sure and steady. It's the gentle, barely there tremble that gives his actual mental status away.
But it's enough for me. My senses have been well-trained. "What? You don't know what to do with lube?" I tsk and shake my head. "That's disappointing."
He's stubborn, I'll give him that.
His eyes are fixed on the camera, corners twitching, as he pops the cap open with his thumb, levels it with his cock and squeezes, a lazy, thick string falling down, covering his length from the bottom to the top and back again, as he moves it, drowning his junk. To stall, probably.
"That's excessive," I point out, and it's not until I hear myself out loud that I notice my breaths are deep and uneven.
He tosses the bottle aside and, without my prompting, wraps his fingers around his thick, slippery shaft, the lube spilling from between his knuckles. He lets out a sigh and gives himself one, two, three slow, diligent, and undoubtedly slippery strokes, before he says, equally slowly, "Yeah, well. I like excessive.”
My jaw clenches, because fuck, some of that conviction is back in his voice, the gentle tremble no longer audible, even for my trained ear.
I reach to the faucet and squeeze the now-hot metal until my knuckles whiten. Anything to stop myself from reaching for my own cock, because fuck, do I need to get off right this second.
I won't, of course. I'm way stronger than that.
The movements of Xander's hand pick up pace, as he strokes himself more forcefully now, the sloppy sounds of lube audible even through the loud rumble of water.
My shorts stick to my body at every point of contact. From the humidity. From my sweat. From the pre-cum that keeps leaking from my cock as I watch my private show on the screen.
Shit. That's not how it was supposed to go.
"What's next, boss?"
Somehow, against the odds, Xander seems to have learned exactly which buttons to push. Either that, or he's just lucky, but my body responds all the same, shivers running down my spine and I have to force my hips to stay still.
Clearly, this isn't enough to scare him, and it makes sense. Stroking his cock is too familiar, even if he's got an audience. Heck, maybe he's even done this before. After all, I don't know him from Adam.
"Stop."
All his movements halt at once. I hate how much I like it.
"Drop your hand down. "
Xander's chest is heaving, and he's breathing through parted lips as he obediently slides his hand down, cupping his balls, giving them a nice pull while his face crooks into a grimace of pleasure.
"I said down."
I don't miss the way his eyes widen. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he's motionless for a few seconds.
I forget to be cautious, my gaze bouncing between his flushed face and his swollen cock, lying abandoned on his stomach in a perfectly straight line.
He should back down now. And I should want him to.
But neither of those shoulds come to fruition and with a long, shaky exhale, Xander spreads his thighs and drops his hand lower, his fingers no longer in view from this angle. And all I'm left with is my imagination.
"And then?"
