Page 14 of Instigator

She doesn’t look at me as she passes by. And why should she? I’m nobody. Yeah, I’m a celebrity in this town, the franchise captain, but I’m still that nobody from Milton Heights, Nowheresville, Wisconsin.

With a sigh, I lift my hand to call the waitress, settle the tab, and then head home. My pulse thrums with anticipation the entire drive, and as soon as I’m safe in my apartment, I lock myself in my bedroom and bar the door with a chair. I do not want to be interrupted.

Not that I think anyone will try to come in the locked front door or my locked bedroom. Still, better safe than sorry. I would deal with it if Ryan walked in on me. I don’t think I could survive if Hailey were the one to open my door right about now.

Stripping off my button-up and jeans, I leave them crumpled on the floor before striding to the bathroom. This is already my third shower of the day; once to wake up, a second time after weights, and now…

The lube waits for me in the vanity drawer, and I pull my favorite toy from the opaque box underneath the sink. I don’t think anyone is going to go rifling through my bathroom cabinet, find the box of toys, and go shocked Pikachu that a grown-ass single man in his early thirties has sex toys.

I keep another stash in my nightstand drawer and a small bag in my travel toiletries kit, plus enough batteries to light up the New York skyline. The last thing I want is to run out of power at a crucial moment.

Humidity clings to the tiled walls, my skin growing damp from the splatter of the showerhead through the open door. When I finally step inside, closing the glass door behind me and moving beneath the hot spray, my entire body relaxes, knowing what’s in store.

Between my legs, my hard cock bobs, desperate for attention. I don’t even bother with soap; not yet. Squeezing some of the lube into my palm, I warm it between my hands before I finally, finally, touch myself.

I start with my nipples, the buds drawn into tight peaks. They’re super sensitive, and as I tweak the left one, I wonder what it would be like if they were pierced. I probably can’t find out until I’m out of the league, though. It would be too risky while I’m playing—too much risk of injury. And I have no intention of retiring anytime soon. My lack of a sex life can wait until then.

The lubrication on my fingers makes my touch slippery, and my left hand snakes down my belly, over the divots of my abs, down to my cock. I keep things very well-groomed down there. The last thing I want is my cup tugging on some errant hairs in the midst of a particularly athletic game. I scratch my fingers through the short pubic hairs on my pelvis above my cock. The sharp bristle centers me while winding me higher and higher.

Caramel and bourbon. The bold, smoky-sweet scent won’t leave me alone. It haunts me. Taunts me. It’s burned into my memory, as permanent as a brand on my skin.

When I finally wrap my hand around my shaft and give myself a firm, slippery stroke, I cry out. It feels so good, the friction a tease of what’s to come. My blood thrums in my veins. Every time I slide my hand over my cock, I climb that little bit higher, the tension inside me coiling tighter.

It’s not the woman. I don’t know her. I’ll probably never see her again. She has nothing to do with this.

But that scent… it follows me.

Picking up the toy, I pour a generous amount of lube inside, then suction it to the wall. The dual showerheads mean that even when I slide my cock into the silicone stroker, I’m still warmed by the spray.

The fake pussy feels like heaven. After nearly eight years celibate, and a year of not actively trying to get laid before that, I’ve tried almost everything. There are only so many times I can get myself off with my own hand before I go insane.

I used to think using a toy made me less of a man. Weaker. Less masculine.

But if that were true, there wouldn’t be a market for them. There wouldn’t be a purpose. There are plenty of ways to have sex that aren’t strictly penis-in-vagina, and if I don’t have a willing partner, why shouldn’t I find relief in a toy? It’s no different from a woman using a vibrator or a dildo.

And there’s nothing to say that if I were to magically find a partner one day, we wouldn’t be able to use the toys together. If this hypothetical woman in my bed isn’t comfortable with my using toys now, she wouldn’t be right for me, anyway.

The silicone pussy grips my cock, and as I fuck into it, I let my mind wander. I don’t think of women I’ve been with or seen in porn when I get myself off. No, instead, it all goes blank until all I see when I close my eyes is black, black, black.

That damn scent wafts through the air, and I know it’s all in my imagination; there’s no way she is here…

But what if she were?

What if she stood at the entrance to my bathroom? Watching me get myself off. Watching me think of her.

What if she stripped off her clothes and helped herself to my shower?

What if she slid her hand over my chest and up my neck, claiming me? Kissing me. Branding me.

What if she took control of the toy, stroking it over my cock, the slow glide of friction working me over until I’m so wound up I can hardly breathe?

What if she⁠—

My grunts and groans echo off the tiled shower walls, and I’m getting close, but I’m not quite there yet. I slide a slippery hand between my legs to cup my balls, rolling them in my palm, and—oh.

My orgasm crashes into me, and I cry out as I release into the toy. I keep fucking the silicone until I’m oversensitive and force myself to pull out.

Breathing hard, I step back and rinse my hands under the spray of water, then bring my hands to cover my face as I try to regulate. Satisfaction seeps into me, a bone-deep exhaustion threatening to consume me.