Page 17 of Dangerous Pursuit
Fuck.
I'm gripping the faucet so tight I can no longer feel my palm.
His fingers are bound to be covered with lube already, so I skip that part. "Now, " I start, my voice coming out raspier than I intend. I clear my throat. "Now I want you to push your index finger in.All the wayin. Nice and slow."
And although I don't see it, the way his face changes, going through a range of reactions, his teeth appearing and disappearing time and time again lets me know he's doing just that.
His face finally settles. "And then?"
And yeah, just like I thought. He no longer sounds convinced. No longer cocky. No longer sure of himself. The problem is, I no longer care about any of that.
"Now," I say, "pull it out. Halfway. And then back in." My voice is no longer steady either.
And again, all I have to go off on is his face. And again, I know he's doing exactly what I tell him to.
"And then?"
Jesus, it's hot in here. I swallow, my constricted throat making the action almost painful. "How does it feel?"
He bites on his lower lip. God, I want those lips. "Uncomfortable," he finally says.
"Then why do it?"
He takes another moment to contemplate, before he says the one thing, the only thing, that can break me. "Because you want me to."
And then, I break.
"Fuck," I mutter and let go of the faucet, pressing the heel of my numb palm to my groin as hard as I can, my cock crying out in a mix of pain and ecstasy.
I stand like this for a few moments, motionless, mimicking Xander, hoping, praying that it will be enough.
It isn't.
I lost. I lost at my own game.
I don't control my groan as I undo my shorts, my fingers shaking, and pull them down along with my underwear, the fabric sticking to my skin as I do.
Wrapping my hand around my aching cock, I look at the lens for the first time in a very long time and say, "Do what you want, Xander. Whatever feels good. Show me what you got."
His hand shoots up so fast it's a miracle he doesn't injure himself and he's stroking his cock so fast it's dizzying. But before I can speak, before I can give him any more directions, he says, "Down."
That throws me for a loop, but I don't slow down for a second, my hand pumping up and down my dick like I've been celibate for ten years. "Huh?"
"Phone. Down." His words are shooting out of his chest staccato style, accentuated by sharp breaths. "Angle your phone down. I wanna see." And then he adds, "Please."
And with that, I lose all my power.
I outstretch my phone-holding hand, barely managing to keep it out of the cascading stream of water and angle it down, just as he asked.
The wordmistakeechoes through the back of my mind, but somehow it feels foreign. Everything does.
We don't talk after that.
The stall fills with clipped moans, groans and curses as we both sprint to the finish line, entrapped by the images, the sounds, our imaginations.
My dick throbs in my hand and my eyes water. I squeeze them shut as the last shred of control I possessed vanishes and I lose it, completely fucking lose it, as come shoots out of me with might. I let out a final groan and my body slacks against the now-hot tiles, Xander's name on the tip of my tongue. I make sure not to say it.
I sigh instead, and slowly open my eyes, only half-ready to face the humiliation of coming first.
