Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
I sit on my knees, revealing cum-smeared pants.
He smirks. “Dirty boy.”
His eyelids drop a little, and he rolls onto his side. “Don’t let me fall asleep,” he murmurs.
I lean down and grab him underneath his arms and drag his heavy body so his head is closer to the pillows. He gives me a sleepy smile.
“It’s really soft.”
“This duvet is made of silk.”
I lie down beside him…knock some pillows to the floor and start to work the covers down so we can slide under them. By the time I’d need him to sit up so I can pull them down behind him, he looks asleep.
His arm lifts away from his side, and his eyelids flutter. “Come here.”
I pull my pants off, ball them up, and drop them onto the rug. Then I reach across the bed and grab the corner of the duvet, pull it over us, and do what he asked. I lie by him…chest to chest. I wrap an arm around his back and let myself inhale the scent of him. Vance. He makes my head spin.
Just when I’m sure he’s asleep, he kisses my throat. His big arm wraps around my back, and faster than it ever has before, sleep comes.
7
Vance
These carved panels… Even in my half-asleep state, I admire the woodwork and the subtle lines of paint that accent it. The panels stretch over me. Oh fuck, that’s the canopy on Luke’s bed.
I lurch up and look around the massive bedroom.
Holy shit, it’s fucking gorgeous. Fireplace. Lush as fuck leather couches…rugs, an armoire. Jesus, that chandelier. My gaze jumps over all the sweet shit.
No Luke.
I do another slow sweep. That’s when I spot the slip of paper near the foot of the bed. I swipe it and sit back on my haunches, squeezing my erection with one hand as I read.
Hey man—
Got an early thing at campus. My luck, you’ll be waking up with morning wood right when I can’t watch on the cameras. Lie back down and have a good jerk. (Kidding on the cameras—none in my room.)
There’s a bunch of stuff in the kitchen. Oat milk too.
When you leave, go out the smaller iron door by the car gate. Code for you 091516. Your phone’s charging on the nightstand. Staff arrives 9:30 on Fridays.
You can leave the room the way it is. No one comes in.
Hope you slept well. I did.
-L
I sit there grinning for so long my cheeks hurt. I know what the gate code means. I set the paper aside, lie back with my boner, and reach for my phone. I’m still grinning as I text him.
Hey, you got your phone?
My phone’s clock says it’s 7:57. Fuck, I slept till almost 10 New York time. No surprise, though. I rub my head. Did I fall asleep right after fucking around? I remember snugging up to him and smile again.
The note he left me ordered me to jerk off, so who am I to argue? I look at the angels painted on the dark wood canopy. Then I shut my eyes and think of him. When I sit up a bit later, grinning, slightly dizzy, almost laughing with how good I feel, I realize I don’t know where the bathroom is. It’s gotta be that door across the way, though.
As I move off the bed, I spot a box of tissue on the duvet. That makes me smile. Thoughtful pervert. I clean up with tissues, ball them up, and go in the door I think is the bathroom but instead discover it’s his closet. Holy shit, it smells so good. So many suits. I find a flannel shirt and rub my face against it. I take a picture of myself smelling his clothes, but I don’t send it yet because I worry that it’s not him who’s got his phone.
The actual bathroom is insane. This whole place is pretty crazy. It’s not like a house; it’s like a palace. I do a quick Google search and find this place was his grandfather’s. Apparently, dude was big political and used to have all sorts of people here. Luke grew up in Sea Cliff—some other fancy neighborhood, I guess—and moved here a few years ago.
I find his toothbrush in a cabinet. He’s got a nighttime mouth guard and an expired bottle of Ambien beside it. Poor guy.
Back in his room, staring at the Dali, I feel a split second of ice cold what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-here. Then my phone vibrates.
Always only me.
Then, rapid fire: You find the tissue box?
What a thoughtful pervert, I say.
He sends back a smilie with an angel halo.
Snort.
He sends the purple smilie with the devil horns.
Yup, I text back.
You good?
Yeah, I got your note. Bout to get moving. Gotta keep my boy safe.
Grab some food first.
Before I can answer, he shoots me another message: Sorry I had to go.