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Skating the Pucking Line

Page 39

by Tracy Lorraine

Asking a question like that is dangerous, and my head immediately begins spinning with ideas.

What I want to demand is his address, so I can call myself an Uber and turn up in person. So I can get my hands on him. But knowing he’s not ready for that, I settle for what I consider is second best.

HotScore: Strip for me.

My message is read straight away, but more than a minute passes before I get any kind of response.

RoughingTheModel: You’re not messing tonight, huh?

HotScore: I know what I want, Picasso.

RoughingTheModel: And what is that exactly?

He’s teasing me, and I’m more than fucking here for it.

I stretch my legs out on Sienna’s guest bed, my cock already tenting my boxers.

She’s upstairs, spending the night with Calvin again. Honestly, she may as well just move up there. She pretty much only comes down here to get showered and dressed before and after work. It seems pretty pointless paying for it for, well, me.

If I had any kind of job prospect, I might suggest taking it off her hands. But while I’ve got enough savings to tide me over for a little while, I know how much this place costs to rent. It would eat into them pretty fucking quickly.

My anxiety over not being able to find a job here like I was hoping to threatens to bubble to the surface. I force it inside the box I’m trying to keep it in. Nothing good comes from worrying about something I can’t control. Especially when I have the perfect distraction waiting for a response from me.

HotScore: You…I want to see as much of you as you’re willing to show. I want to feast on your hot as hell body as I stroke my cock while imagining it’s your hand jerking me off.

RoughingTheModel: You have a real way with words, you know that, muse?

HotScore: Is that your way of telling me that I’m making you hard already?

RoughingTheModel: Have some patience. You might just get to find out.

My heart rate picks up at the thought of what he’s going to send.

HotScore: For you, I can be as patient as you want. I’m a good boy, remember.

RoughingTheModel: I remember.

RoughingTheModel: Now stop distracting me. I’ve got a video to film.

Oh yeah…

My impatience gets the better of me, and I quickly shove my boxers over my hips before frantically kicking them from my feet, sending them flying across the room. If anyone were watching, they’d think my mystery man was about to walk through the door.

I close my eyes for a moment and imagine the door opening and his muscular body slipping inside.

“Good boy. Keep those eyes closed. If you do as you’re told, I’ll reward you.”

“Please,” I whimper, unable to stop myself from getting carried away with this little fantasy.

I stroke my cock, showing him just how hard I am for him. Enticing him in.

“Look at you. You’re a dirty boy, muse, lying there, offering up your cock for me.”

Fuck. Yes.

My hips thrust as I stroke all the way down my shaft.

“You want my mouth on you?”