Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I lit another smoke, toking on the filter. “You act like I’ve never seen your dick before.”
Iggy shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. Something I’ve discovered was some sort of nervous tic. “Yeah, well, not like this. With girls and at parties. It’s different, you know?”
I laughed at his nervousness and found it endearing. “If it makes you feel better, blame it on Molly.”
Iggy’s words didn’t even register. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been with men before. Both of us viewed sexuality as fluid. We were with women, mostly over men. I never understood why that was. Perhaps it had to do with accessibility. We were on the road a lot and most of the groupies were of the female variety. When we weren’t touring, we were recording, and in that time we would dedicate ourselves to creating something greater. When Iggy and I composed or wrote music, we were on another plane of existence. Sex wasn’t even something we craved, because the music gave us a high so intense that we’d reject anything and anyone that could interfere with it. Guess one could say that music trumped coming for the both of us. There was this connection when we created a song that was almost otherworldly.
I stared up at the ceiling. The sound of Iggy pulling down the zipper of his pants was so thunderous that it drowned out the loud orgasm noises blaring from the speakers. In my peripheral vision, I watched his large hand grip his shaft as he moved his foreskin back and forth before smearing his pre-cum on the tip of his cock. My eyes took in his thickening dick and the bulbous shape of his cockhead that peeked out every time Iggy moved his foreskin up and down.
Iggy chuckled. “You perving on me?”
I quickly diverted my eyes to the screen where one guy was plowing the other while the girl was rimming his asshole. “I’m a hot-blooded man. It’s bound to happen.”
Did I admit I was checking out my best friend’s dick?
“Fuckin’ jerk off with me,” Iggy said as his eyes lowered to my crotch. “Based on the heat you’re packin’, you obviously want to.”
There were no words of denial slipping between my lips, instead my hand snaked down my gray joggers as I gripped my cock. My eyes were no longer focusing on the screen. The ostentatious porn with aggressive sex and dirty talk was of little interest. As much as I loved the forceful nature of the sexual acts depicted on the screen, I had zero desire for the participants. My eyes fixated on Iggy’s tattooed hand, choking his cock, wondering how his fingers would feel along my dick.
“Did those hurt?”
Iggy’s voice snapped me out of my filthy imagination. I gazed up toward his eyes, which were focused intently on my hand, rubbing my dick.
“Yes,” I rasped, “but it was worth it.”
With one hand, Iggy tore at his t-shirt, lifting it over his head. I held in a gasp when my eyes connected with the lean muscles of his chest and the two silver loops in his nipples, wondering why that was the first time I’d really looked at his naked form.
“Did those hurt?” I asked, nodding to his nipple rings.
“Like hell. I would almost cry like a baby every time I put a shirt on.”
Iggy kept his eyes on me as he tweaked his left nipple with one hand and jerked his cock with the other. I realized the porn blasting on the television was no longer holding our interest. A wave of erotic desire and lust created by the other swept the two of us up.
I was so consumed with fervor that I didn't even notice when Iggy’s hand came closer to my cock. A hiss tore through me as the tip of his finger brushed along my apadravya.
“I’m sorry,” Iggy growled, the husk in his voice both primal and desperate as his fingertip grazed over my flesh.
I met the heat in his blue eyes as I thrust toward him. “Blame it on Molly.”
The moment the pad of his thumb contacted the tip of my cock, lightning struck. Heat rolled off my body and the need to be closer to my best friend overrode all the reasons why what we were doing was a disastrous idea.
When I was younger, my mother would reject sweets. She’d say ‘one taste on the lips, forever on the hips.’ Eleanor Banks was a woman obsessed with superficiality; the way the world saw her was more important than anything else, including her two children. But at that moment, I completely understood Eleanor. That one moment with Iggy had the capability of devastating my world. For me, there were only three things in life that provided me with stints of joy, and crossing that line with my best friend would leave me devoid of two of them.