Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Okay, I’m here.”
“Can you video call? Will anyone hear if they come in?”
“It’s almost always empty in here, and this bathroom is like a steel trap. I think we’re okay.”
“Take off your clothes, and I’ll call you.”
I set the phone down, quickly washing and sanitizing my hands before getting naked, hanging my clothes on the hooks against the wall. Hospital staff cleans up in these bathrooms a lot, so they’re clean and properly stocked.
My fingers tremble with excitement as I answer the video call and see Miles’s sexy face filling the screen.
“Let me see,” he says, so I scan the phone down my body, showing off. “Good boy,” he tells me, and I swear, I fucking preen under his praise.
“Yes. I am.”
Miles grins. “We’ll make this nice and quick for you. Set the phone down so I can see you, spit in your hand, and stroke.”
“Gladly.” I’m dying, rock hard already, just the thought of jerking off for him making my body pulse and throb with desire.
I prop the phone up against the sink, wish I had something better than spit, but thankfully, I’m already fucking leaking, so my precum will help slick the way. I spit into my hand, then let some dribble onto my dick before giving it a slow stroke, my gaze on Miles the whole time.
The fucker is dressed in an old T-shirt with paint stains on it. I know he’s an artist, that he draws, but does he paint too? I hate that I never took the chance to get to know more about him before now.
“Did you jack off looking at my photo this morning?” I ask quietly.
“You know I did.”
“Good. I wanted you to.” I rub my palm over the slick head of my dick, then back down my shaft.
“I edged myself…every time I was close, I pulled off, torturing myself just so I could look at you longer, and now I’ll do the same to you, only I don’t think I’ll let you come at all.”
I moan sluttily. “Please, Miles. Let me come.” Stroking, savoring, my whole body tingling and already eager to come.
“No. Use your other hand to play with your balls,” he commands, and I do, rolling them, palming them, while I keep my other hand going on my shaft.
Watching the hungry look in his eyes, the dominance Miles always carries with him, is amping up my pleasure, my neediness. He’s so fucking intense, everything about him is, and I didn’t know how much that turned me on until Miles.
“Look at how well you listen. I love it. You’re so fucking hot when you’re good for me. You want to come already, don’t you?”
“Yesss,” I hiss out. I usually have better stamina, but Miles is too damn good.
“You want it bad?”
I stroke faster, squeeze a little tighter, feel dizzy and realize I’m holding my breath. “So bad. Please let me.”
“No.”
“You’re such a fucking sadist.”
“And you like it.”
Yes, I really fucking do.
I’m so close to the edge, toes curled in my socks, body rocking as I jerk myself for Miles, trying to be good and hold off for him and—knock, knock, knock.
“Anyone in there?”
I freeze, eyes wide, as if whoever is on the other side of the door can see me, and mute the phone. Miles is laughing, enjoying the hell out of my predicament.
“I’ll be right out,” I say. “Stomach is messing with me.”
I can tell Miles is laughing harder. I switch the call to voice, putting it by my ear.
“What time do you get off?” he asks.
“Three.”
“Come over,” Miles says, and ends the call.
There’s not a chance in hell I’m not going.
15
Miles
When Dax told me he was in the hospital, I freaked out.
Being in nursing school, it wasn’t a huge stretch that he would have some other reason to be there than being hurt, but when I saw the word hospital, my mind wouldn’t let me imagine anything else.
It was a relief, not only to know he was working, but getting to torture him on the job. And I do enjoy torturing him.
When we finish our call, I text him my address. Then I finish up a paper for African Art. As I tidy up around my place, I’m smirking, proud of myself for the way I got him all worked up. How obedient he was, always is. But it’s already after three thirty, and he’s not here. It’s grating on my nerves, something I don’t mind letting him know: Where are you?
Dax: Heading to you.
Adrenaline shoots through me.
Me: You shouldn’t be texting and driving.
Dax: Walking up the drive now.
Oh.
Me: Callbox #8441
The tension from thinking he might have been distracted while driving turns to eager anticipation, and I’m impatient as I let him in the main entrance, waiting until there’s a knock at the door. He’s in scrubs, his hair slightly disheveled, like he’s run his fingers through it a few times. His face is relaxed, his eyelids drooping, like he’s tired from a long day.