I let my mind drift to the memory of how his cock felt underneath his clothes. He’s big—impressively so—and I bet he looks like a fucking God without his clothes on.
My own cock starts to twitch and thicken in my sweats, and fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I try to readjust myself as discreetly as possible, but we’re in a car and he’s right next to me, so I know he sees. Of course, he doesn’t say anything about it.
We don’t dare talk about our feelings in the light of day.
We’re about three quarters of the way home, when Luca’s phone rings. I can see on the screen in the car that it’s Cuntney.
His girlfriend.
The same girlfriend he had Friday when I attacked his mouth, after he begged me to.
I couldn’t stop the anger that boils in my stomach, even if I tried. I’m not even sure who I'm more mad at, him or myself.
He clears his throat and denies the call.
As I’m trying to not feel giddy over the fact that he ignored her call, she fucking calls back.
Take a fucking hint, bitch.
Luca audibly sighs, pressing the answer button. How nice, I get to listen to their call through the car speakers.
“Hey, Courtney, I’m driving. What do you need?”
“I miss you, babe.” She is whining. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “When will you be back? I got back an hour ago.”
“We’ll be back in town in probably forty-five minutes.” I revel in his bored tone.
“We?”
“Uh, yeah. Branson is with me, Courtney. I told you this already.”
“Oh, that’s right. Okay, well, text me when you get home. We can hang out.”
“Okay, we’ll see.” With that, he hangs up the phone and runs his hand through his hair. I wish I could replace his hand with my own.
Get it together, Branson. Don’t get another fucking boner.
Just like before, I put us both out of our misery, closing my eyes, pretending to be asleep for the rest of the drive.
We need to fix this somehow.