Page 15 of Break my Heart
Although, she’d definitely tear into my ass if she discovered how I make my money. And she wouldn’t accept one damn penny if she discovered the truth.
Which is exactly why I keep my online activities to myself.
No one knows about it.
Not even my closest teammates and friends.
A few months from now, TenInchesofCocky will retire and be a thing of the past.
I fidget with the screen until I have the perfect angle of my chest, abs, and gray sweatpants before tugging the waistband down. I squirt a little lotion on my hands and rub them together before starting the livestream. Already there are a couple hundred viewers—or voyeurs—waiting patiently in my private room.
The little red light on the camera blinks, letting me know I’m live.
I lean back in the chair and manspread.
Maybe women don’t like it IRL, but they sure as hell don’t mind when I’m on camera and they’re getting up close and personal with the goods.
Especially when I drag the material down, freeing my dick, and proving that my screen name is one hundred percent accurate.
There’s definitely no shame in my game.
My hands settle on my chest, sliding with ease thanks to the lotion. That’s all it takes for me to close my eyes and lose myself in the steady thump of the music. It’s something mellow that flows. I pinch my nipples before allowing my fingers to meander downward. I throw a few stretches in, so my muscles bunch and flex, before shifting on the chair.
When an image of Ava pops into my head and my dick stiffens right up, I go with it.
This is exactly what my fans clamor for.
Even though my eyes remain closed, I have zero doubts that appreciative comments are rolling across the screen.
In the beginning, I was more cognizant of them, but that takes me out of the experience. So, I stopped paying attention. The only time I tweak something is when the money dips, but I’ll be honest, that hasn’t happened since the beginning. My audience has only grown over the years.
I focus on the sassy figure skater as my hand drops to the waistband of my sweats before sliding over the material and grabbing the thick erection that tents the cotton.
I hiss out a breath.
The tip is already sensitive.
Who would have thought the feisty blonde could get me so hard?
My fingers drift lower, tracing the ridge of my erection until reaching my balls. I roll the sac around, massaging it before squeezing.
Damn, that feels good.
Under normal circumstances, I try to stretch out the show for about twenty minutes before the grand finale, but I don’t think I’m going to make it that long.
Fuck it.
Instead of waiting, I shove down the sweats and boxers, allowing my erection to spring free. Then I pull out my balls.
They’re just as much of a showstopper as my cock.
Especially since they’re shaved and as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
Don’t believe me?
Check out the comments section.
Maybe I don’t watch them scroll by, but I always read them afterward to see what people enjoyed.