Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Because if he’s on board with this crazy-as-fuck plan, I want to be at home, in bed, dick in my hand.
I push the heel of my hand down into my semi. Who knew that this Halloween every jock on the CU campus would want to dress as the Witcher? Obvious choice of course—easy and hot, just about every jock’s costume requirement—but I’d been completely unprepared.
My dick had flipped out more tonight than it had in the last month, and when I’d left, and Cohen was there all big and hot and staring at me with his intense gray eyes, I’d almost choked on my own spit.
I don’t think it had to do with my brother’s friend though and everything to do with what he was wearing.
I couldn’t message Richie fast enough.
There’s clearly something there between us, and it both terrifies and excites me. Uh, me and Richie. Not me and Cohen. Though he did look super hot. Super, super hot. I don’t have that reaction to anyone, and certainly not ever to him before. It had to have been the costume.
I’ve been waiting for my constant messaging to scare Richie off, but so far, he texts as much as I do.
Now, I want to know if it could be more.
Not only if I could be sexually attracted to a guy, but to him.
I pull up in the parking lot of my apartment, ditching the helmet and hockey stick in my hurry to get inside.
It’s painful to climb the stairs with my dick still making a valiant effort to get hard.
I pull out my phone as I’m pushing through my front door.
Richie: What did you have in mind?
Ah, shit. This is the difficult part.
Einstein: Apparently The Witcher was a popular costume idea this year.
Richie: I had noticed that too. It made me think of you.
Einstein: Well now I have a big problem.
Richie: I don’t think I should ask what I want to …
Einstein: Do it.
Richie: Is that problem between your legs?
Einstein: Yes.
Richie: How hard are you?
Those four words finally coax my semi to a raging hard-on. I’m thrumming with need as I shed my pants and shirt and fall into bed. Then, driven by the blood pooling in my groin, I grab my cock through my boxers and snap a picture. I hold my breath as I hit Send.
Richie: Holy fuck.
Is that good or bad?
Richie: I officially have the same problem.
I bite my lip and give my dick a slow stroke.
Einstein: I need your help.
Richie: Anything.
Einstein: You can say no.
Richie: Yeah, that’s not happening. What do you want? Sexting? A pic?
All of the above?
Einstein: Yeah, or … I mean, voyeurism is hot, right? You did offer …
Richie: You want me to video call you while I get off?
Einstein: Maybe too much since I don’t know how I’ll react when I see your dick. But … just a video?
Richie: On it.
My dick twitches as I picture Richie touching himself. Big hand wrapped around his hard cock, and I’m starting to think that maybe Emma was right. Jury is still out until I see the real thing, but my mind is working up one hell of an image.
Richie: You can also say no, but if you wanted to send me another pic without the clothes, it might make this go a bit faster.
I’m scrambling out of my boxers before I’ve even finished reading the sentence. The thought of him looking at me, getting himself off over me … Yes, yes, yes, please. I wrap my hand around the base of my cock and take the picture. I hit Send before I can worry about how it compares to the countless other dick pics he’s been sent.
His response is fast.
Richie: Fuuuuuuck. That’s so hot. This isn’t going to take long.
I drop my phone on the bed and grab the bottle of lube from my bedside table. I hold back from jacking myself until I come, but it’s hard when I picture Richie holding my photo and doing the same.
My strokes are agonizingly slow. Not tight enough. I roll my palm over the tip and smear the dribble of precum down my shaft.
A minute later, my phone buzzes.
I scramble to grab it and find the video.
And as hard as I am, I don’t immediately click on it. What if I’m not into it? Nerves pool in my gut, competing with the need flooding my system, but the need wins. I have to find out eventually.
But the second his cock fills my screen, I have my answer.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
My hand shakes as I fumble to click Play.
Heavy breathing comes from the speakers as his hand works up and down his thick hard-on. I can’t help notice the differences between us—the veins, the slight curve, the dark purple tip—and it makes my cock throb.
I prop my phone up on the pillow beside me, tighten my grip, and start to match the pace of Richie’s strokes.