12. Michael

MICHAEL

I spit into the sink and rinse off my toothbrush.

Go to bed.

Just go to bed and go to sleep.

Flipping off the lights as I cross the room, I yank the sheets back and drop onto the mattress.

Close your eyes.

I stare up at the ceiling, thinking back over the information I just read on the Second Bite website.

Alice Hatter lives in Minneapolis, works in tech, and is thirty years old.

Thirty to my forty-five.

Just go to sleep, you pervy fuck!

My hand slaps down on my nightstand, picking up my phone.

It only takes a few taps to find what I’m looking for. A screenshot of Alice sucking that damn frosting off her finger.

You’re a disgusting man.

But even my inner voice can’t stop my body’s reaction to Alice. To the sight of her lips circled around the tip of her finger. The invitation in her eyes. The way her small hand felt in my larger, rough one.

Keeping my eyes on the screen, my free hand shoves down the waistband of my pajama pants.

This is fucked up.

I grit my teeth as my palm connects with my dick.

Mine isn’t the hand I want to feel. I want her soft, warm fingers wrapped around my hard, hot length.

I want her wide green eyes blinking up at me.

My hand pumps.

I want her kneeling before me, lips parted, pretty pink tongue peeking out to lap at the glaze dripping from my cock.

My grip tightens.

I want to grip her glossy golden hair and hold her still while I shove my dick deep into her willing mouth, bumping against the back of her throat. I want to see the wide-eyed look of surprise when she realizes just how deep she can take me. Just how much of me she can swallow.

A loud groan rips from my chest as I give a final stroke, my release coating my stomach.