Page 44 of Sizzle

I look down at the tent building up just below my belt. I’ve jerked it so much this week I’m getting brand new calluses. Pissed as I am that Elliot won’t even talk to me, I can’t help the way my body responds to his. The way he looked at me, right before I left…

I yank my shirt over my head and start the shower. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. One last time to get it out of my system. I snort at the thought, yanking my belt open, because who am I kidding? I’ve been getting it out of my system for years. It’s not going anywhere.

I pull the zipper down carefully, as quickly as I can manage. I’m going to be thinking of Elliot, shirtless, sweating, steaming, breathing hard in that garage every day for the rest of my life.

The first touch of my hand on my cock has me reaching out for the door frame. Christ, if Joelle were here…

Would I send her out to watch him? So I could see the heat in her eyes, building to match mine as we watch him wear himself out. The idea makes me moan before I can stifle the sound. There’s no way he can hear me outside anyway.

The fantasy is clear as a damn bell in my mind. Joelle walking over to Elliot, getting on her knees before him. I’d tell her to pull his shorts down, freeing that long dick I’ve only seen in the showers a couple of times years ago.

I’d tell Joelle to start sucking him off, spelling out exactly how I want to see it done. Because it’s my fantasy, Elliot keeps his eyes on me as I slowly work my cock, watching them together. He licks his lips like he wants to taste me, and I moan again at the thought.

I’d tell Joelle to push him down on the bench, to straddle him just like she did for me the night of the storm so he could feel what I felt—

A gasp behind me has me whirling around, my heart stuttering in my chest.

Elliot’s standing there, eyes wide, hand at his waist. For a long, shocked moment, I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. I sure as hell can’t let go of the business at hand. His gym shorts are tented something fierce. There’s a dark spot growing where the tip of his cock strains against the fabric. The sight damn near brings me to my knees.

Elliot fists a hand around the base of his cock and strokes.

“Elliot.” It’s barely a whisper. I’m right on the edge of a precipice so steep that I think I may not survive the fall.

He nods, his chin jerking sharply. My hand moves again, my cock so hard it hurts. I swipe a thumb over the tip, slicking up the head. The slight friction is too good, my hips buck up into the stroke.

Elliot’s jerking his dick under his shorts, his hand moving fast. He hasn’t taken his eyes off my cock since I turned around and it’s burning me from the inside out.

“I was just thinking,” I gasp. I’ve got no business talking in this state but the words come out without any help from my brain. “About the three of us. About telling Joelle to ride you like she did the other night, so you can see what it felt like.”

He jerks, breaths ragged and shallow. I think he’s going to come.

“Would you like that, Elliot? Would you like me to watch you next time?”

He closes his eyes at that, fist moving fast under the band of his shorts.

“Because I know she would,” I say. It’s enough. He’s groaning hard, hunching over, his hand flying. I can just see the head of his cock poking out against his belly, spurting so much come it pools on the floor.

That’s enough to set me off. I force myself to stay standing, letting him watch, compelling him to watch, keeping my eyes on him the whole time, and Christ. It wipes me out.

I’m still catching my breath as Elliot yanks at the shirt draped over his shoulder, mopping at the come on his chest. When he bends down to swipe at the floor, I inhale sharply enough that he glances up at me.

He looks so lost. I remember that feeling, that sheer bafflement, like sitting on a tiny raft in the ocean while watching the only ground you’ve ever known drift farther away until it’s gone and you’re still trying to work out where the raft came from in the first place.

“It’s okay, Elliot,” I say. I tuck myself back into my pants, leaving them unbuttoned. I grab my own shirt, making quick work of the cleanup like he’d done and sit down on the floor next to him, tugging on his arm until he’s sitting next to me. He still hasn’t spoken.

“Hey,” I say, lowering my head to catch his eye. I want to reassure him, tell him it’s not a big deal, but I can’t bring myself to utter the lie. I’ve wanted him too long and even the smallest possibility that he might feel the same is overwhelming. My heart pounding, I rest my hand on his arm.

I have to make him understand that this is okay, that there’s nothing wrong with what we did, what we both wanted. And maybe it’s time I told him the truth. I can’t have everything—I can live with that—but maybe I don’t have to hide it from him any longer.

If I’m wrong…

If I’m wrong, then I’ll accept the consequences. But I can’t let him leave with that look in his eyes, not when I know it’s within my power to throw him a line back to shore.

He jerks again when I touch him, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stares down at my hand for a long moment.

“So that was new,” he says finally, looking back at the wall.

Moment of truth. I take a deep breath and pull my hand back.