Page 29 of Every November

I’ve heard how you respond when I praise you

Evan:

Fuck, I’d like anything that comes out of your mouth

Me:

I’d use my hand to slick my way, twist my wrist on every upstroke. Just like you like it.

Evan:

I like it so much

Me:

Are you touching yourself right now, Evan? Thinking about me?

Evan:

Yes

Me:

Good. Imagine it's my hand.

My fist, tight around you, stroking you from base to tip. I’d use my thumb to spread the precum over the head and down your hard shaft

Evan:

Don’t stop. Your hand feels so good.

It does feel good. Fucking hell, it feels really good. I can almost hear him, the soft, desperate sounds he made in that hotel room, and I match my rhythm to the words I’m sending him, like if I get it right, it’ll be like we’re coming together.

Me:

I wouldn’t. I’d get you right to the edge, just like last time. I can feel you getting close, feel your balls drawing up. But I wouldn’t let you come yet.

Evan:

You're an asshole.

Me:

You love it.

I’d let you calm down, then I’d flip you over. Pull your hips up until you’re on your hands and knees for me.

Evan:

God, yes.

Me:

I’d eat your ass until you’re begging me to fuck you. Begging me to fill you up. You’d be so desperate for my cock you wouldn’t care who heard you.

My strokes speed up as I lose myself in the fantasy I’m creating for him. My mind keeps replaying our night in the hotel, and fucking hell, do I want him again. He makes me irrational. He’s more addictive than anything I’ve ever touched or tasted, and I’ve only had two nights with him. Two.

Evan: