Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

She asks, “Is that okay?”

A nurse comes in. I think I get more Dilaudid, because Cleo goes away. I grab my dick. An anchor. It’s the only thing I feel. My hand or her hands... ?

His face is somber and his eyes are shut. I don’t think he’s touching himself the way I think he—oh. The blanket slips off him and I can see his hand definitely stroking his cock.

It sends a bolt of lightning through me.

I watch his chest move up and down. The motion makes his face go tighter, even as he pumps his long, thick shaft. My hands yearn to join in his rebellion. Would he like that? Would he like my help? It might just be a comfort thing. Something he can do to distract from the pain.

The more I watch his fingers curve around his cock, the more I see the strength of his hand moving in its practiced rhythm, the more I watch him pump his perfect cock—the more I understand why he needs this right now.

Heat begins to rise in my chest, gathering in a thick sting. I’m breathing deeply too, but he has no idea. I’m not sure he even knows I’m here. I watch his hand, the thickness of his shaft, the smoothness of that skin. His breaths come longer, louder and his balls draw up. And I can only stand here, feeling need unfurl between my legs.

Can I touch him? He would want it. I think he would.

I climb onto the bed. I trail my hand up his calf, then up his firm, hair-dusted thigh, so he can feel me coming. I hold my breath and stroke his balls. His hips jerk. He moans as I cover his hand with mine.

His eyelids lift. His eyes are glossy, but instead of vacancy, all I see are seas of need.

“Can I... ?” Shit. I can’t even say it.

“Please. I wanna feel... your hand.” His eyes slip shut. I feel his thighs tense as my hand replaces his hand on his cock. I tighten my grip. I try to keep his rhythm.

“Oh God, Kellan.” His legs spread out. His ass lifts off the bed.

I move up and down his thick shaft, pumping his base and gliding all the way up to his swollen head, where I find a bead of slick pre-cum. Kellan’s breaths are h

oarse and shallow.

“It feels good?” I whisper.

He groans. I see the mottled bruising underneath his jaw as his head tips back, his blond hair pressed into the pillow.

“Good,” he moans. “It’s good.”

I bring my other hand under the blanket tossed over his thighs, cupping his warm balls. I knead them as I pump him hard and fast, with steady, knowing strokes. He groans. My hand slows, tugging his thick shaft toward me.

“Faster. Pull... harder.” He reaches down toward me, his fingers spread. He banks his hand over his lower abs. The fingers quiver, but he doesn’t touch me.

I pick up the pace again. His cock is swollen, huge and hard and hot. He lifts his hips and groans, a ragged, mindless sound. I cup my palm around his head. He’s slick there. I trace the rim of him with delicate precision.

“Squeeze,” he growls. “My balls. Squeeze hard.”

He thrusts his hips. “Harder,” he begs. “Please... fuck, Cleo.”

With one hand wrapped around his sac, I take his cock between the base of my thumb and the inside of forefinger. Then I jack his rigid shaft. Up and down. I pump as my hand fists his balls with measured force.

He writhes. “Cleo—fuck... oh fucking shit.” The words are low and hard. He thrusts his hips. “Oh God...”

I want to take him further. Take him away. I struggle with my idea for a moment, then decide to take a risk. I lean under the blanket and lick up and down his thigh, my hand still holding his firm sac, my fingers grasping the base of his cock.

I pick up the pumping on his dick and guide one swollen testicle into my mouth. Good move. His hoarse voice fills my ears. “Oh fuck... Cleo... Ohhhh... I’m gonna blow... inside your mouth...”

Kellan groans. His legs tremble. I leave him like that, panting. I race over to my bag and grab a flavored condom I bought for this purpose.

I can’t suck him bare; one of the rules. He twists his hips, moaning, as I roll the condom on.

“Oh fuck... God. Cleo... please...”