Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Then his face plants into the crotch of my jeans.
My head rocks back, smacking into the mirror behind me with such force, I can’t be sure whether I just cracked it or not. I don’t feel a damned thing other than an ocean of pent-up pressure that is building down there from Bridger massaging my cock and balls with his face. It feels like it goes on forever, and goddamn it, if I only had forever to enjoy whatever the hell he’s doing.
Then his fingers fumble for the button of my jeans, undoes it, unzips me, and down to my ankles they go. Bridger’s face is back in my crotch, now mouthing the bulge of my tight briefs.
Yeah, removing the jeans made all the difference. This is a whole other level of sexual pleasure I never thought possible. A thousand times more than my right hand can do on a lonely night in bed. A thousand times better than any fantasy.
Bridger’s fingers hook into my underwear and give it a tug.
My cock, raging hard, throbbing, smacks him right in the face.
He looks up at me. His fierce blue eyes, usually commanding and detached, now look sensitive and connected to mine. I swear, he could ask anything on this planet of me and I’d say yes, hell yes. I would give him whatever he asked just to keep those irresistible eyes on me.
Then he frowns. “I, uh …”
“Yeah?”
“I … I don’t know how I feel about …” He hesitates.
“What?” I almost bark at him, not meaning to, my impatience mounting. I’m so horny and excited, and to be fair, he just let my dick fly out of my underwear like he had a plan with it—a plan he just paused. “What is it? Don’t know how you feel about what?”
“Sucking you off on a public bathroom sink,” he finishes. “Am I taking your … your gay blowjob virginity right now?”
I don’t know which part of that sentence to react to first.
Suddenly there’s a noise at the door. Then it becomes a bang of a fist. “Hey!” comes a muffled voice. “Who locked the door?? I gotta take a dump!”
I make a face at the door. “Gimme a minute! Someone’s gettin’ laid in here!”
Bridger covers my mouth halfway through that—which I find kinda fucking hot, not gonna lie—and he replies, “Sorry! There’s a problem with the, uh … toilet! Out of order for another minute!”
“Are you serious??” shouts the muffled voice back.
Bridger turns back to me. “We can’t do this. Not like this.”
“What?” He’s already off the ground and fetching my shirt, which causes a hand dryer to scream in protest for half a second before falling back asleep. “What’re you—?? We’re not through! Hey, don’t give me my clothes back!” I shout when he shoves my shirt into my chest.
“Suit yourself, be half-dressed when I unlock that door, but … no,” he insists. “This isn’t how I want your first time to happen. Not in a bathroom. You and I, we’ve shown we don’t have great luck in public bathrooms.”
I hop off the counter and yank my jeans back up. “Bridger, I’m hard as fuck. What am I supposed to do with this?”
He comes up to me and, before answering, gently works my shirt back over my head. Once my arms are through, he runs a hand down the front, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I think we … we need to slow down a bit.”
“Uh, shit no,” I spit right back. “I’m happy with the pace we were at ten seconds ago before numbnuts knocked on the door, thanks for asking my opinion.”
Speaking of, he knocks again. “What’s taking so long?? About to shit my pants out here!”
Just then, one of the stall doors opens.
Bridger and I both turn to it, eyes wide.
The meek face of a skinny, freckly redhead smiles back at us. “I was enjoying it, too,” he quietly tells us, flushes his toilet, then goes to calmly wash his hands. We’re still staring at him when he flicks them dry in the sink, then smiles at us again and adds, “You two make such a cute couple. And I hope someday I can find my own ticket to your, um, hot mess train. It sounds like a lot of fun. Excuse me.” He slips by with a meek nod, unlocks the restroom door himself, and heads out. The guy who was waiting barges in with a huff, then barely acknowledges us as he waddles by, clenching his ass, before bursting noisily into one of the stalls.
Bridger and I stare at each other.
“I have a room,” I state quietly. The man in the stall lets out a groan that goes on for days as what sounds like a whole damned cantaloupe performs a cannonball splash into a dainty pool.
The key sticks in the lock.