Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
My mother is from Jersey, I type as I squeeze myself.
I take another video, this one with the camera on my balls as they bounce. After sending that, I write, I have a cabin there. Near Atsion Lake
I don’t wait for his reply before firing off another quick enticement: Remember what I wanted you to do to me?
I think of him pushing into me, the pressure and the shock, and my dick pressed to the mattress, oozing as I grunt and shake beneath him. I think of his hard chest, his warm, tanned skin. I picture him thrusting his cock down my throat, and I blow my load for the phone’s camera. I send the story right after.
I wait ten, then twenty, thirty minutes…forty.
Too much, too soon. Fuck! I turn over on my side, rubbing my face and my temples. The warm air in my room seems to lie on me as I tug my hair and squeeze my cock and hate myself and him.
It feels like forever that I lie there, thinking now of fucking him—the way I’d push into his tight hole and grind him to the floor. I’d make him bark and moan until his face was pushed against the carpet. I’d reach between his legs and find his cock and feel the stream of cum, the pool of cum below him.
Mine.
I roll onto my back and exhale long and slow. Stare up at the ceiling till my vision blurs.
It’s over, V.
I grab my phone and check my texts and then Twitter before I try Instagram again. I’ve had a message waiting there for nineteen minutes.
What’s the address?
* * *
Luke
It’s lust that books the car and gets me to the elevator. I look at the sleek, reflective floor as I ride down. I see mostly gray gym shorts and a soft, white Under Armour shirt. As I get the rental from valet, I think about a cap. I should have worn a ball cap, but…distracted.
I’m on the parkway, speeding through the dark toward I-895, when I realize I didn’t pack a bag. I guess that’s good. I’m not staying.
I crack my window, suck back a big breath of night-cool air. Mid September on the east coast, there’s a bite to it.
This is very stupid. Even as I think it, I ignore it. Since March, I’ve been distracted and dissatisfied. Tonight, I’ll get it out of me. So I can move on. It’s…necessity. Like scratching an itch.
Still, I can’t deny the quick throb of my heart, the rush of my blood as I pass Baltimore and fly toward Aberdeen. I stop for gas in Childs, bouncing on my heels as I wait for the tank to fill. When I get back in, I have a text from Vance.
Trenton, baby. You all good?
I draw a breath and push it out and select “share location” from my iPhone to his. A minute later, he replies.
K cool, I’ll be waiting. It’s not near the rentals, but I brought a ski mask for u just in case
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
Kidding. Brought a hoodie
I close my eyes. Be safe, I text back, before pulling onto the road.
Sometimes I think of Dad—the way he went out for that milkshake and he didn’t come back.
Please make sure he’s safe. Please help me.
I wait for fear and guilt to twist in my chest. Instead, I feel the weight of vacancy. I turn on the radio and pull into the left lane.
Carneys Point pops up in what feels like twelve years and no time at all—with it, a mile marker for Atsion Lake. I decide to slow down for the last hour. The last thing I need is to get pulled over.
“Where ya going, sir?”
Thick woods cloak the highway, swaying so the tall trees feel a little sentient. There’s tail lights out in front of me and some cars headed south, but mostly, the freeway’s dark and lonely. I check the clock on my rented Infiniti and find it’s 10:05 PM.
Lights and buildings start to spring up around exits, and I realize…this is Philly’s outskirts. I feel like an actor in a movie. Once again, I search myself for guilt or unease, but I can’t find either. The truth is, I’m desperate to see him again. He’s been living in my head since I let him off my yacht with no more than a clap on the back. The truth is, I feel no fear. I feel nothing but desire, and I’m tired of tamping it down.
Around the Medford exit, things start feeling rural. Fields fan out between tufts of forest. The moon has pushed out from behind the clouds, splashing rich, white light over the car’s hood.
I can feel my pulse thrum in my ears and eyes. My chest feels heavy, like I’ve swallowed something leaden. I inhale through my nose, exhale slowly through my mouth, and focus on the road.