Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I try to force my mind to the night Cameron gave me her virginity, to the image of her face in ecstasy, but the more I strive to force the narrative, the more Macy’s breathless moans and freckle-dotted cheeks enter my thoughts.
I remember how her lashes fluttered against her rosy cheeks when she murmured how good it felt having my hands on her, and how her scent got muskier the more the seconds ticked by.
I think about the heat that radiated onto my hand when I dragged the razor across her milky thighs, and how the hem of her dress would have only needed to shift an inch to give me unrestricted access to her fragrant-smelling pussy.
I recall each boundary I’ve crossed in our friendship, but instead of it shunting me back to the start of the race, it pushes me over the finish line as a foreign name leaves my lips. “Macy…”
Streams of cum rocket out of my cock and cling to the bathroom tiles. My release is like nothing I’ve experienced before. It is a climax so powerful that it buckles my knees out from beneath me more than the miles I ran to stop precisely this from happening.
“Fuck,” I grunt out again several long breaths later, more in frustration this time than pleasure.
Disgusted by the scent of my release in the air, I splash water onto the evidence of my stupidity and then bat off the faucet before hanging my head in shame. Normally, I towel off before stepping out of the shower, but with my mind preoccupied, I forgot to bring one.
Karma gnaws my ass when I almost slip while climbing out of the tub. As I head to the linen closet near the bathroom entrance, I leave puddles of water in my wake.
I’m almost there when the bathroom door suddenly swings open, and Macy enters like she has a rocket strapped to her back.
The urgency of her dilemma dawns on me when she plops onto the toilet a second before a torrent of pee overtakes the frantic pounding of my heart in my ears.
As fast as her bladder empties, Macy’s Spidey senses pick up. With her eyes wide, they shoot to me standing frozen a foot from the linen closet, butt fucking naked.
I hide my still-firm cock with my hands, but her wide-eyed and gaping-mouth expression makes it seem as if it didn’t achieve release only minutes ago.
They also expose why her play of the shy card always goes off without a hitch. It is Oscar-worthy. She has the innocent-blusher vibe down pat, and my dick is more than interested in exploring how deep her blush goes.
After gawking long enough that I’m closer to strangling my dick than concealing it, Macy snaps her eyes to the vanity, where she shakes her head, certain she’s still dreaming.
Her gulp is audible when she returns her eyes to me. “Nope. I’m not dreaming. You’re still naked, and I am still peeing.” Before I can commend her bladder on being able to hold almost a gallon of liquid, she murmurs, “You’re not meant to be here. Your running shoes weren’t under the hallway table, where they’ve been for the past two days. Everyone knows the only time you move your running shoes is when you’re on a run.” Her eyes lift from my hands to my face. “So why are you here, listening to me pee?”
“I went for a run.” I have no fucking clue who the dweeb talking is, but I am certain he isn’t me. His voice is whiny and uncomfortable, a stark contrast to how I usually sound. “But I picked up something nasty during my travels, so I left my shoes outside.” When she grunts in disbelief, I say, “Would you have preferred I walk dogshit through the apartment?”
“No, but…” She has nothing to come back with, so she shifts her focus elsewhere. “Why wasn’t the bathroom door locked? You’re usually pedantic about privacy.”
I can’t exactly tell her I was racing away because I was desperate to discover how her moans would tickle my tongue, and that you’re not thinking about privacy when you are stroking your cock over your friend and work colleague, so instead, I shrug.
Macy looks like she wants to say something, but with her bladder empty and the realization that the toilet roll is just as sparse, she holds back.
“Thanks,” she mumbles when I hand her a fresh roll a second before snagging a towel from a shelf above the stack of rolls.
Once she has a wad of toilet paper in her hand, she gestures for me to spin around. Her request makes me laugh. I can’t see a single thing below the bump in her midsection.
When I say that to Macy, she grunts. “I’m more worried about you seeing the color of my pee, and the lecture on hydration it might instigate.”