12 Inches (Size Matters 1)
r his kiss.
I tremble as I feel his lips on mine, the salty flavor of his cum flooding me. Pushing my tongue inside his mouth, I use it to wrestle against his, strands of cum dripping from his mouth and into mine. When I pull back from his kiss, my heart skips a beat as I notice the cum glistening in his lips. Is this really happening? Maybe I’m asleep and this is just a dream. But no, the soreness in my muscles tells me that this is very real.
Finally down, Aidan sighs loudly and rolls to the side, lying down on the mattress by my side. We just lay there, catching our breath and staring up at the ceiling as time passes us by.
Maybe this project with Aidan is exactly what I need to get back up on my feet. Or down on my knees; I’m not sure if after this I’ll be able to focus for the necessary amount of time to get some writing done.
8
Aidan
The window blinds have a kink in them, and in its space, a single blade of sunlight hits me right across the eyes, jolting me awake. I roll over and rub them with my fist, and then I see her—Abby.
She somehow looks even hotter than the night before … maybe it's because we're both still completely naked, or maybe it's the way her blonde hair cascades down across her shoulders and reaches the tip of one exposed breast. I can't help but smile. I normally don't stick around after I've fucked a woman, but Abby's … well, she's different. There isn't anything in me that is telling me to flee. No red flags. No panic button.
I tap my phone on and look at the time.
Fuck. It's already a quarter past 8, and I'm late for my Skype call with CJ. Sure enough, as soon as this realization dawns on me, my phone vibrates with an incoming text message.
"Where R U???"
It's CJ. Predictable. She's like clockwork.
You ever have someone that will just stay on your case until you do what they tell you to?
Yeah, that’s CJ.
Shit, I better get up.
"1 sec just grabbing coffee sorry I'm late," I text back.
I carefully pull the covers off of me, and try not to wake Abby. But looking back at her … her face, the outline of her body, those curves … makes my cock twitch. Not now, I tell myself. As much as I'd like to wake her for another round—a repeat of what we shared last night—I have work to take care of first. I need to think with the head on top of my two shoulders, not the head on my cock … as much as my body fucking thinks otherwise.
I grab my coffee and walk over to my computer, powering it up. I listen to it purr to life, and I launch the Skype app. With its signature whooshing sound, it pops on my screen. I find CJ's name and press the green call button. It buzzes for a bit and then she answers.
"Well, well, well, look who decided to show up," she chides me.
"I know ... you don't have to give me shit. I overslept."
"You look tired, but I have some news that might perk you up."
"What's that?" I ask, running my fingers through my hair and trying to smooth it down. I realize I probably look like a fucking mess right now on the screen. I didn't even have a chance to brush my hair before jumping online.
"I've hooked up with a photographer," she says smiling.
"Good for you; it's about time you've seen some action," I yawn. "How long's it been? A month? A year?"
"Not that kind of hook up—you savage. I mean that I've found us a good photographer. She calls herself Mistress Strokes."
"That's an interesting name."
"She's an equally interesting person—definitely the artistic type. She has blue hair and comes highly recommended," CJ says, grinning from ear to ear. I watch the screen as she pushes her own hair behind her ears. She always does that when she's excited.
"Great," I say, wondering if this is the reason why she wanted to meet with me this morning—just to tell me about some photographer. Like I really give a fuck who takes my picture.
"You should be thankful," she says. "It wasn't easy finding someone. Not a lot of photographers wanted to work with you. They were afraid you'd somehow sully their reputations."
"I don't really give a fuck what they think, CJ. You know that."