CHAPTER NINETEEN

S ebastian

I don’t think Luke heard me leave the bed. I’m pretty sure he’s still sleeping. I slide off my clothes and peer at my hard, exceptionally unprofessional erection.

If Clark had any idea, I’d be fired immediately.

I shake my head.

It’s fine. I woke up with morning wood. That’s not shocking.

But I wouldn’t be as hard as I am now if I can’t still feel Luke’s arms around me. If I can’t still feel his hardness against me.

God, at least I scrambled from the bed before he could wake up. The man is straight. Straight, straight, straight. I need to remember that.

Gay men don’t join Seeking Mr. Right. And though bisexuality exists, there’s never been any history of that with Luke.

I shouldn’t read romance into simple kindness. It’s great he doesn’t want to taunt me like Bryce, but that doesn’t mean he wants to do anything else with me.

I squeeze my eyes, but the only thing I can think about is how his arms felt wrapped around me. How his cock felt pressed against me. His super large cock.

My mouth waters, and I am not thinking about sucking on it. That would be definitely inappropriate, and I am not inappropriate.

I am Sebastian Archer, TV host. Professional TV host.

I am not imagining just how wide I would have to open my mouth to take him in. I am not imagining swirling my tongue around his slit. I am not contemplating sucking on his velvety skin. And I am definitely not imagining what his seed would taste like.

Because I know it would taste good.

Everything about him is good.

I close my eyes, and I hate that I am harder than ever. I have to sit next to him on a bus. I can’t be spontaneously getting erections. I’m smaller than him, but he would notice if I had an erection. The man notices a speck of black gliding around the ice. He’s hardly an absentminded professor.

God.

Why is this so difficult?

I stare at my hardness, willing it to go down but it only throbs. Pre-cum smears the head. I want to grasp onto it. I want to run my fingers along it. I want to play with my balls and grab my dildo and think of all the things I shouldn’t think about.

Sitting next to Luke with an erection is probably a bad idea. Especially since he would probably see himself as the most likely cause for it. I don’t want to feel disjointed and on edge the whole bus ride back, and I wouldn’t want him to feel awkward.

Really, you could say the professional thing—and I am professional, would be to take care of this matter.

I step into the shower. The water isn’t icy, thank goodness. Clearly, the hotel fixed whatever difficulties it must have had with its generator, or maybe the power in the neighborhood is restored.

The water is warm and wonderful, like the feel of Luke’s arms last night. My length jerks at the thought.

God, I’m so gone for him.

I shouldn’t be. I know that.

But I close my eyes all the same because I am a flawed individual, and I imagine the day starting differently. I imagine waking up to Luke’s hardness pressing against my ass, but this time, he wouldn’t be asleep. This time he would be awake, pressing against it, because he couldn’t help it, because he was fascinated by it.

I mean, I do have a nice ass.

I imagine him sliding my pajama pants down. Maybe he would spend time looking at it, feeling the shape with his large hands. I shudder, then brush my fingers against my cheeks. I shiver, and not from cold. I tremble, but with delight.

The thought shouldn’t be so arousing, but Luke is arousing.

That’s why Clark jumped at his application.

Millions of other people feel the same way as me. The thought makes something in my chest hurt, but I push it away. Instead, I grab hold of my length and will myself to not think about ridiculously handsome hockey players on the other side of this wall. I strive not to contemplate broad shoulders and a bright smile and a gentle, tenor voice.

I try to imagine another fantasy, and I scramble for my phone. I don’t normally watch porn in the shower, I don’t normally watch porn, period, but you could say this would be the professional thing to do. Because allowing myself to get off to fantasies of such a sweet, kind man feels wrong and icky and terrible.

I click rapidly on the porn site, clicking on a dark-haired twink who doesn’t look like Luke.

I focus on the image. The camera dips to the man’s cock, and I focus on it.

See, I’m thinking about someone else.

I’m absolutely not thinking about Luke.

I move my hand more rapidly over my length. The pre-cum grows, merging with the water.

I wish I were on the bed. Jerking off in the shower has never been my thing. The bottles of shampoo and conditioner and soap have always taunted me when I’ve attempted to do so, reminding me I’m not focused on what I’m supposed to do.

I watch the guy in the video, slide his fingers—shorter than Luke’s—over his shaft. I’m pretty sure his shaft is shorter than Luke’s too, though it’s not a question I can ever ask him.

But now my mind drifts to the feel of Luke in the morning. I remember his thickness.

What if I’d turned toward him, instead of scrambled away? What if I hadn’t moved away last night, when I’d felt myself harden when he’d wrapped me against his chest, when I was certain at any moment he would feel my cock? What if instead I’d continued to let him move his arms up and down me? What if I’d still shivered, and he’d suggested we kiss, because that’s another way to keep warm. What if he’d sucked on my skin, sucked on my lips, sucked on my tongue?

My heartbeat hammers, as if he really did that. My eyes flutter shut, and I’m lost in the fantasy of Luke claiming me, of wrapping his large arms around me and not letting me go. Of kissing me over and over again. I can practically feel his fantasy tongue against my lips. I imagine his hands squeezing my ass, I imagine feeling his erection press into my belly, I imagine him suggesting, maybe sheepishly, maybe not, that he take care of me, take care of us.

I imagine his hand wrapping around me, of his shaft touching mine, of his tongue tangled with mine, his other hand cupping my ass—

And then I explode.