A tiny thrill shoots down my spine at the image running inside my head. Naked. Sweaty. Blaine pressed against me, his mouth fused to mine. My dick is aching and hard as a rock, desperately trying to escape the confines of my jeans.
When I made it to his room, he was already in the shower. I once again misread the situation. He wasn’t waiting on me. No, Blaine was taking care of things himself. I was too much of a chicken shit to stay and watch, though I wanted to. Even with the steam from the shower, I could see the curves of his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Thick, muscular thighs. Masculine as can be. And there he was, one hand pressed to the wall as he expertly jerked at his dick.
I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the need to touch myself.
Hard. So fucking hard.
I don’t understand what’s going through my head lately. With Devon, I was pissed and hated that he assumed I was gay. But with Blaine? I sort of hope he thinks I am so he’ll make the first move—unbutton the rest of my jeans and take me into his hand.
My eyes pop open, and I listen in the dark. His bed creaks as he shifts, getting comfortable. The urge to get up and walk in there is maddening.
Then what?
Crawl into bed beside him and beg him to force the things on me I secretly crave?
I don’t crave shit. That’s the drugs.
I think. I fucking hope.
When the urge is too intense, I take matters into my own hand. I undo the remaining buttons on my jeans. Cool air kisses my hot, throbbing cock, and a bead of pre-cum dots the tip.
This is fucked up.
I’m in some cop’s house about to jerk off to thoughts of him.
Under normal circumstances, this sounds like exactly the kind of shit that gets you arrested. But right now? I think I’m safe from that. Safe from the prying eyes of the world. Safe from the judgmental stares and words of people who don’t understand just what the fuck is screwing with my head.
Blaine seems to see something inside me I can’t see myself. And rather than exploiting it, it’s as though he has a plan. I just wish I was in on said plan.
My hand wraps around my cock, making me hiss in pleasure. In the dark, with Blaine’s masculine and powerful scent permeating every inch of his home, it’s easy to pretend it’s his hand. But his hand is bigger and stronger. I bet he’d jerk me hard. I yank to the point of pain, squeezing my eyes shut as I chase this fantasy of him.
Harder. Harder. Harder.
I’m breathing heavily, groaning quietly as my body tingles with pleasure. The need to come is overwhelming. I crave more than my hand, but it’s all I have. No filthy fan girl to sink my dick into…
My dick softens slightly.
Jesus!
Blaine. Blaine. Blaine.
His growly voice. His dark, penetrating stare. His full pink lips that look like they would feel good pressed against mine. His thick cock rubbing against mine as he pins me to the wall.
Fuck!
A spurt of hot cum shoots out of me, splattering my chest. The room spins, dizzying me. Heat rushes through my veins like I’ve taken a hit of something super addictive—something that’ll get me killed like Lex.
Goddammit, what the hell am I doing?
I peek my eyes open to inspect the mess I made. My lean, tattooed chest glistens in the moonlight. The tip of my cock still drips from my release. I’m still aroused and eager for more, despite the fact that I just whacked off like some confused freak in a cop’s living room.
If we were together, would he lick the cum right off my chest?
Would he gather it with his thumb and shove it into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself?
When my dick twitches, impatient to yield to his demands, I let out a heavy sigh.
Fuck this.
Fuck Blaine.
And fuck my stupid dick.
Shame is a powerful emotion. For me, it’s a muse killer and a mood destroyer. It also makes me paranoid as fuck. Ever since last night at Blaine’s, I’ve been spinning.
I cleaned up my “mess” and snuck out of the cop’s house like some sort of bad ass teenager getting away from his overbearing dad. But in my case, I was escaping my overwhelming desire to be with the cop. Whether the feeling is mutual or not is beside the point.
I don’t want him.
I don’t want any man.
Thank fuck I can always count on the band to remind me how to be a man. I’d woken up really fucking late this afternoon in Seth’s guest bed. I don’t know how the hell I got here, though my text messages leave a trail of me begging him to come get me. Now, a party is in full force downstairs. Loud as shit too.