by Haley Jenner
Fuck.
I glance at the picture again.
Henley.
Red bikini top.
Tits pushed together.
Cocktail in hand.
Sent to me.
Not posted on social media.
Sent to me. Privately.
I swallow.
Man, I’m deprived. My dick is hardening over a picture of tits in a bikini.
No, not anyone’s tits.
Henley’s tits.
I type out a text. Deleting it, only to retype it once again.
I shouldn’t.
Brooks: My dick is now hard.
I shouldn’t have.
But I did.
I’m fucking horny.
And lonely.
And wanting the one person the universe has decided I can’t have.
Henley: Show me.
I sit up straight.
Brooks: For real?
Henley: I want to see.
I glance around my hotel room, certain I’m being fucking played.
The thick line of my cock is visible through the white cotton of my Calvin Kleins, and I shrug. Grabbing the granite line, I angle my phone, taking a photo and sending it over.
Henley: Take it out, Brooks.
Henley: I. WANT. TO. SEE.
I swallow.
A dick pic. I smirk.
Brooks: See what?
This is fun.
Sexting. Who would’ve fucking thought?
Henley: How hard *I* make you.
Reaching into my boxers, I grab hold, stroking myself once or twice, groaning aloud.
I’m so fucking turned on right now.
I’d give anything for Henley to be here. In this room. Her beautiful lips kissing my crown. Licking the droplet of cum beading at my head.
Ensuring I get a decent angle, precum included, I do as she asks, sending her an explicit image of my overeager cock.
Henley: Jesus, Brooks.
Brooks: You like?
Henley: I want.
Brooks: Are you drunk?
Henley: Tipsy. And alone. And horny.
Brooks: Same, baby. Fucking, SAME.
Henley: Will you video yourself? Stroking it. I want to watch you come.
I almost come right then and there. My dick jerking in my hands at her dirty little message.
Brooks: Will you do it for me? Send me a video of your fingers in your pussy.
Henley: Maybe.
Good enough for me.
Closing out of our message app, I open my camera.
Hitting record, I keep my right hand held tightly around my base and squeeze, groaning long and loud.
Fuck.
I’m no stranger to pulling my dick. But this is different. It’s a helluva lot more enticing. Jesus, knowing Henley will watch this. Knowing that she’ll see the way I jerk my cock just for her. Knowing she’ll watch my cum spill from my tip.
All. For. Her.
I rub myself leisurely. Moving my hand up and down in slow, measured strokes.
“Fuck, Henley,” I breathe. “Look how hard I am for you.”
Will she touch herself to this?
Will it make her wet?
Will she rub her fingers over her tight little clit and feel it swell for me?
I growl at the thought, my fist moving faster, harder.
“Baby. Shit. I’d give anything to have you here.”
My balls feel heavy. Tightening under the strain of my dick.
“Would you take it in your mouth?” I pant.
I jerk at the thought of her hot, wet lips. At the image of her pink lips stretched to accommodate my size, her tongue dancing out to taste me.
I move my hand faster, climbing toward my climax.
“Fuck, Henley, I’m gonna come,” I groan, thick ribbons of cum spurting out before I’ve finished the sentence.
I don’t stop my hand, slowing my strokes to drag along the semi I’m still sporting before ending the video.
I send it to her before I can second-guess myself.
What’s the worst that can happen?
I hold myself back from taking my phone with me to the bathroom. Using a towel, I wipe myself off, cleaning the jizz off my stomach and hand.
A small ding sounds, and I drop the towel to the ground.
Henley: I would’ve taken you in my mouth.
Henley: Deep enough to gag. I want you to touch the back of my throat with your hands buried in my hair. I want you to lose control and fuck my mouth like you’d fuck my pussy. Hard.
My flaccid cock stirs again, and I almost drop my cell.
Brooks: Gotta show for me?
Henley: Night x
I laugh.
I should be mad.
But that was hot as fuck.
A side to Henley I’ve never seen. One I can’t wait to be introduced to in the flesh.
I’m beat.
Fucking exhausted.
My clothes are filthy. My muscles aching.
But I’m elated.
I stood in the fucking clouds.
Above them even.
I felt it all.
Alive.
Inconsequential against the sprawling expanse of the sliver of the world I could see. Standing at the top of the mountain, I realized how small I was in the grand scheme of the world.
And it made me feel powerful.
In myself.
The world may be bigger than we can comprehend, but me, a small fucking being, could stand on top of it and soak it the fuck in. My soul was set on fire, and I let it fucking burn.
I’ve done my fair share of hiking over the years. But Mount Pulag had me going nonstop for over ten hours. Longer if you include the travel time to and from the base of the mountain.
I work hard. But I play even harder. When there’s a break in my schedule, I take full advantage.
Dropping my shit the moment I cross the threshold of my room, I strip the clothes from my body, needing a shower like I need my next breath.
I stand under the boiling hot water of the spray, letting it cascade over my aching muscles. Sliding down the wall, I sit, naked, and consider falling asleep where I am.
I have three more days off before my job starts again. The company I’m shooting for has decided to fly in more models. It seems redundant to me. I could get them the money shot with the girls and guys they already have, but they want more variety. It’s no skin off my nose because while they fuck around, I’m still getting paid. It’s their back pocket hurting, not mine.
Forcing myself to stand, I wash the countless hours off my body, attempting to massage my muscles as I go. But it’s futile because I have nothing left in me. I give up, dragging my towel lazily across my body, barely drying the droplets of water before falling to my bed.
Patting my bed aimlessly, I grab at my phone, ready to turn it off to make sure no one wakes me from the next sixteen hours of sleep I plan on diving into.
A message from Henley sits unread, and I perk up, the sudden burst of energy coursing through me enough to bring me onto my elbows.
The video starts with an almost indecipherable moan, a quiet cry of pleasure.
The saliva in my mouth dissipates immediately.
The screen moves messily as she adjusts her cell into position, and I almost drop my phone the moment she comes into full view.
Completely. Naked.
Everything in view.
Everything.
The last time I saw Henley naked was when she was seventeen. Even filtered through a grainy screen, she’s just as beautiful. Not that I doubted that for a second.
The stretch of her skin looks as silky as it was over five years ago. Like butter under my lips, melting with every touch.
Legs bent upward, she’s resting them on what I can only assume is a headboard—not visible on the screen. The backs of her thighs frame the shot, miles of sleek skin begging for my tongue.
But what steals my breath completely, what robs me of
coherent thought, what causes every last drop of blood in my body to rush to my cock. . . is her pussy.
Open and exposed. Front and center.
I can see by the swell and shine of her bare lips that she started her solo act prior to recording. She’s stretched open to accommodate the two fingers currently pushing in and out, fucking herself for my viewing pleasure.
I can’t see her face, but I’m man enough to admit my focus wouldn’t be on her eyes right now. Not with what she’s offering.
I can hear the sound of her arousal, her wetness echoing through the line every time she thrusts her fingers in and out of her body.
She pauses at times, fingers buried deep within, to rub tight circles against her sweet spot, her palm pressing roughly against her clit.
She moans.
Illegible little grunts of pleasure that make my dick stand on end.
Fuck.
“Pull your fingers out, baby,” I beg her video, sitting up to free my throbbing cock. “Let me see how wet you are for me.”
As though she read my thoughts, her fingers slide out, and I growl, fisting myself violently. Her juices are thick, making her fingers shine, and I’d give my left nut to suck them clean. To taste her excitement. To balance her on my tongue and savor her for an eternity.
The pads of her fingers rub at her clit coarsely.
I wish I could command her to slow down. I’m not ready for her to come. I want to watch her for longer. Hear her cries of pleasure and the salaciously wet sound of her fucking herself.
Her back arches.
“I’m throbbing,” she tells me.
“Same, baby,” I respond to the empty room, my breathing ragged.
“I’d die for your cock, Brooks.” Her fingers continue to rub unevenly over her clit, moving up and down and side to side over and over again. “For it to slam inside me right now.”
I can see the way her thigh muscles tighten, the dip of her stomach.
She’s close.
So fucking close.
She cries out, and I jerk my dick up and down. Rigid strokes that force me—even while sitting—to bend at the waist, the feeling buckling every nerve ending within me.
“I’d come instantly.” She thrusts her fingers inside, lifting her hips to push them as deep as she can.
“Brooks!” she yells out, her fingers never stopping the desperate way she uses them as she breaks apart for me.
I follow seconds later, ribbons of cum dressing my hand and stomach.
Hips dropping back to her mattress, she continues to slide her fingers in and out leisurely as the aftershocks cause twitches along her frame. Finally, her fingers exit her body. I can see her cum dripping from her, stuck to her fingers in pleasure.
She lifts them to her nipples, dragging her orgasm over the stiff peaks on a heady moan.
I watch on as she sits up, lifting her phone to bring her face into view.
Her cheeks are flushed, eyes hooded, and even though I wasn’t there, I know I gave her that.
Fingertips to her lips, she leaves her climax along her skin before slipping them between her lips and sucking them clean.
“Tastes like I want you.”
Then the video cuts out.
A black screen.
Tastes like I want you.
Fuuuuuuccccck.
Canceling out of her message—which I will be watching again momentarily—I do a quick internet search before the dial tone hits my ear.
“I need a return flight to the Whitsundays, Australia. Flight out tonight if you can manage it. A day on the ground and then back the next day.”
21
HENLEY
“Hen, there’s a solid ten asking for you at the end of the bar.”
I inhale deeply through my nostrils. “Tell him I’m asexual and can’t speak English.”
Jada chuckles, brushing my shoulders as she wanders past me.
This happens at least fifteen times a night. Drunk assholes thinking they’re God’s gift to women attempting to flirt. Attempting being the operative word. Most of the time, they’re downright offensive.
No, I don’t want you to rock my world.
Oh, you want to give me an orgasm. . .
Isn’t that the whole point of fucking? You don’t get a gold fucking star, dickcheese. If your opening line is how selfless you are in bed, then news flash, you ain’t. Here’s the truth—you’re thinking I’ll drop my pants right then and there for you to prove what a giver you are, and you’ll jab inside me for three half-assed pumps before you blow your load and swear that this has never happened before.
Please.
Grabbing empties from the bar, I tip the dregs of beer out, then toss the bottles into the trash can at my feet.
“I tried that.” Jada hands over change to one of three women who take five attempts to drink the shot they ordered, needing the perfect pic for their socials, rather than enjoying the moment. “He said when you attempt to reject him, tell her he’ll carve his name into the bar.”
The bottle I’m holding drops to the floor. I pay it no regard, my body turning fast enough to make me wobble.
Brooks waves, a sheepish smile creeping onto the side of his mouth.
“Told you,” Jada whispers. “Solid. Ten.”
“Can you close up for me?” I ask absently, unable to move.
“What?” she stutters. “He’s hot, but not bail on your mates level hot.”
“He’s not a ten,” I tell her.
“What?”
I turn to her. “A solid ten, you said?” She nods. “He’s a forever. Not a ten.”
She blinks, realization dawning on her.
“Then go, girl. I got this. Grab that forever.”
I take a step toward him, nerves holding me captive, sweat tickling at my spine and drying out my throat.
Brooks stands as I move out from behind the bar, and I step into his body.
He moves to kiss me, but lifting a hand, I place my fingers against his lips.
“Wait. I just need a minute. Sixty seconds to look at you.”
He gives me that, a single minute to stare at his beautiful face.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.” He speaks against my fingers.
He’s tired. Eyes creased in both sleep and lack thereof. His dark hair is a tousled mess, and he lifts a hand subconsciously to bring order to the disheveled locks. It only works to cause more mayhem.
Dark-wash jeans hang low on his hips, the band of his Calvins on show when he stretches or moves.
“Squirrel, Ima need that kiss you promised me right about now. While I love the way you’re looking at me, I didn’t fly all this way just for you to stare.”
I exhale, a small moan escaping my lips at the promise in his words.
When I throw my arms around his neck, he lifts me effortlessly, hands fitted comfortably to my ass as our lips—after too long apart—reconnect in a carnal touch of longing.
I kiss him the way I promised I would. Frantic. My hands grab at his hair, needing to pull him as close as possible. My tongue pushes between his lips, a needy moan spilling into his mouth when I finally taste him. He lets his tongue glide against mine just as fervently as mine does his. We’re possessed and caught in an infatuation that will knowingly leave us burned, but we’re too blinded by lust to care.
He tastes like my happiest memories and my greatest heartache. He’s joy and pain and love and longing, and I want more.
I hug him tighter, and I swallow the rough growl he lets go of just as a cold spray of water hits the side of my face, and I pull away from Brooks in silent protest.
Standing at the end of the bar holding a soda gun aimed at my face, Jada smiles innocently. “I mean this in a super supportive way, but like, maybe get a room?” she suggests. “You’re gaining a nice little audience here, and look, maybe voyeurism is your style, no judgment here, but I don’t need cock and pussy making appearances in my bar.”
Brooks ducks
his head to hide his smile. I clear my throat, untangling my legs from his waist and sliding down his frame.
“Apologies.”
“None needed.” Jada smirks. “Forever doesn’t come around too often.”
Brooks raises a brow quizzically, but I wave at Jada, grabbing his hand to pull him out of the bar.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” Tears wet my eyes, and I’m so overwhelmed, I can’t quite find the words to tell him what it means to me.
“I can’t believe I’m here.”
It’s warm out, the nighttime humidity clinging to my skin.
“I want to catch up, Henley. I do, but right now, I need inside you more. I jerked off to your video and jumped on the next flight out of the Philippines to taste what you promised me.”
My thighs clench. “That I want you.”
“Prove it to me, Squirrel. Come back to my room so I can open you up and eat you all fucking night. Let me taste how fucking wet I make you. Let me slam inside you the way you need. Let me worship your body the way I’ve been fantasizing about for months. Years even.”
“Where are you staying?” I ask quietly, unable to trust my voice not to give out with the quiver inside it.
He doesn’t answer. Hand grabbing mine, he pulls me in the direction of his hotel, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure I’m still there.
I’ve barely registered we’ve entered his room before he’s on me. Kissing me as he promised.
Slowly.
Deeply.
An intimacy I haven’t felt in too long builds low in my stomach, growing with every expert flick of his tongue against mine.
“I could do this forever,” he muses, lips brushing along my jaw to find their way to my neck.
The tip of his tongue dances along the column of my neck, pausing at my pulse. Sucking on the delicate skin, he continues to massage the spot with his tongue.
My eyes flutter shut, and I moan loud enough that I feel his smile against my skin.
“Your pussy in that video, fuck, Henley, so wet. I wanted to fucking drown in it.”
I whimper.
“Mm,” he praises the sound, flicking the button on my jean shorts to dip his hands inside. “I could hear how wet you were,” he groans, sliding his fingers against my bare pussy. “Killed me that I couldn’t taste it too.”
“Now,” I manage to choke out.