Page 74 of Lucky Shot
I suck you. Hard. Deep. Sometimes quick thrusts into my mouth but other times slow and drawn out. When you finally explode for me, I let it trail down my throat before I swallow. When I swallow, I bring the head of your dick to the back of my mouth and contract my throat around you.
The sounds you make when you orgasm will be burned in my mind forever.
I’m so fucking hard now, I have to stop typing. It’s not just pretending what I’d do to him anymore. I can see it in my head. I can almost taste him on my tongue. My hand moves along my hard dick as I desperately try to get there.
My phone pings and I look down to where it’s fallen beside me.
Pretty Boy
Can I send you a video?
I nearly lose it right then.
Me
Yes. Please.
It’s the anticipation of the video to come that has me squeezing the base of my dick until my vision nearly goes dark. The little box is spinning. Telling me there’s a video loading. It takes for-fucking-ever.
When it finally comes up, I waste no time tapping it and turning the volume up.
The phone must be close to his face because I can hear him breathing. Heavy. Quickly. Just like I said he would be. But the video is focusing on one thing—his hard dick.
Pretty’s underwear is pushed to the side, just like I said I was going to do. His dress is rucked up his stomach. His hand wrapped around his glorious dick is perfectly in frame. I groan. When his moan meets my ears as if he’s right next to me, I groan again.
I watch, transfixed, as he moves his hand over his dick, matching my movements over my own cock in time with his hand. It’s so hot. So fucking hot. The little whine he lets out. The whimper.
My fingers fumble as I pause the video and tap through my phone to pull up the camera. It takes me a minute to get myself in frame like he is and when I hit record, I move back to his video and watch. Jerking off in time with my Pretty Boy.
“Prettiest boy,” I murmur, already forgetting about my own video recording.
His whine, the quiet plea in his voice, has me almost losing my goddamn mind. His hips move off the bed as he thrusts into his own hand, still working his dick. Harder and harder and harder.
“Fuck, Demi god. I need to feel you,” he whimpers. Begs.
My dick throbs in my hand at his words. A thrill races through my chest. “Fuck,” I mutter. I’m about to lose my mind. “Say my name again.”
I swear, I’ve somehow synced up with this video as if he’s really there on the other end because he does. His quiet pleading voice says, “Demi. Please. Get me off.”
That seems to be my undoing. I grunt as I come, forcing my eyes to stay open so I can watch him work himself over. Again, I’m synced with the video because his strangled cry is the only warning I get before he unloads. It shoots toward the screen and part of the image is blurred because of it.
My dick gives another heave at that. “So hot,” I growl as my body shivers through the last of my orgasm.
I try to keep my sticky hand from touching the screen as I get out of the video, stop my own, and then send it back to him.
Minutes pass in which I assume he’s watching it. I remain where I am, trying to catch my breath. Staring at my phone. I see when his text comes through, and I grin.
Pretty Boy
That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Fuck.
TWENTY-TWO
NOAH
We spendthe next week sending each other all kinds of pictures. Dirty pictures, sexy ones, obscure ones. And then there are the weird things like taking extreme closeups of something and the other tries to figure it out. I’m still working on some disturbing brown, black, and yellow thing that, for the life of me, I can’t figure out.
One morning, I wake up to a very short voice message within our text. I play it and my heart jumps to my throat.
