Foreman blew out of a breath of air, rolling his eyes at himself once Amber was out of the room. He was in no mood to masturbate, not after knowing how good it would feel to have Amber, all of her, as slowly and deeply as she'd promised. Not with his own sulky, rebellious feelings that had emerged as soon as Amber walked away from him, naked, perfect untouchable ass and all. But if he didn't do something, his dick would--literally--come between them once she was back. He didn't need to magnify his own embarrassment by poking Amber in the hip with his erection just because he wanted to be close to her. Even if it subsided, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't do something stupid when he was unconscious. He might even go as far as rubbing against her and ejaculating in his sleep. He wasn't a goddamn teenager, but it wasn't exactly farfetched, not as aroused as he'd gotten.
Besides, it was his own place, and it wasn't like Amber didn't know what condition she'd left him in. Impatiently, Foreman reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock. His dick twitched against his palm, and it felt good, but at the same time, muffled and mechanical. Just a jerkoff because he was horny. Nothing real. Foreman tugged himself, tighter and faster than he normally would. He was already close. Amber hadn't even touched him. Not since her hand on his thigh in the car. Resentment tried to build up, but Foreman deflected it into the quick rhythm of his hand, the twist of his fingers around the head of his cock. He bent one leg to place his foot flat against the bed so that he could push up and fuck his own fist. With his right hand, he cupped his balls, rubbing his thumb along his scrotum. His breathing started hissing faster between his teeth. Even with his eyes shut, Foreman knew his face was scrunched into a scowl. It wasn't exactly pleasure, but he was getting the job done. He thought about Amber--in his shower, wet and slick with his soap, touching herself, lifting her face up to the spray.
It worked, for some definition of worked. With two harsh spasms, his orgasm washed over him, his dick spurting onto his hand and his stomach while he worked his hand furiously over his cock to wring out the last of the sensation. There wasn't much semen, and Foreman rolled to his side quickly to grab a kleenex. He wiped himself off and balled up the tissue, throwing it into the trash when he was done. The air smelled like sex--like Amber, his brain insisted; her sweat still mingled with his on his body--but it wasn't like he could hide what he'd done. Stubbornly, he didn't want to. It hadn't been much of an orgasm anyway, and it had been Amber's choice to opt out.
The shower was still running in the bathroom. Foreman got up long enough to turn off the light. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, dark blue silk, and then threw himself back down on the bed, interlocking his fingers behind his head. Physically, beating off had left him relaxed, but it hadn't done anything to help his thoughts. He set his jaw and reminded himself that he wouldn't be any better than any fucker who wouldn't listen to the word no if he acted like he'd been entitled to something. They'd already had sex once tonight. A week ago, single, he'd have thought that was more than enough. Foreman stared at the ceiling and forced out another breath. He had to get over himself, for fuck's sake. It wasn't Amber's fault. And, he knew, there would be other nights. She hadn't left.
A minute later, the door opened, and Amber stood framed in the light from the bathroom. Wearing something filmy, soft, that barely reached mid-thigh. Any other time, Foreman would wonder if it was for him. Not tonight, obviously, but she was still so beautiful. Foreman's muscles softened, although he didn't shift his position. "Hey," he said softly.
no subject
Besides, it was his own place, and it wasn't like Amber didn't know what condition she'd left him in. Impatiently, Foreman reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock. His dick twitched against his palm, and it felt good, but at the same time, muffled and mechanical. Just a jerkoff because he was horny. Nothing real. Foreman tugged himself, tighter and faster than he normally would. He was already close. Amber hadn't even touched him. Not since her hand on his thigh in the car. Resentment tried to build up, but Foreman deflected it into the quick rhythm of his hand, the twist of his fingers around the head of his cock. He bent one leg to place his foot flat against the bed so that he could push up and fuck his own fist. With his right hand, he cupped his balls, rubbing his thumb along his scrotum. His breathing started hissing faster between his teeth. Even with his eyes shut, Foreman knew his face was scrunched into a scowl. It wasn't exactly pleasure, but he was getting the job done. He thought about Amber--in his shower, wet and slick with his soap, touching herself, lifting her face up to the spray.
It worked, for some definition of worked. With two harsh spasms, his orgasm washed over him, his dick spurting onto his hand and his stomach while he worked his hand furiously over his cock to wring out the last of the sensation. There wasn't much semen, and Foreman rolled to his side quickly to grab a kleenex. He wiped himself off and balled up the tissue, throwing it into the trash when he was done. The air smelled like sex--like Amber, his brain insisted; her sweat still mingled with his on his body--but it wasn't like he could hide what he'd done. Stubbornly, he didn't want to. It hadn't been much of an orgasm anyway, and it had been Amber's choice to opt out.
The shower was still running in the bathroom. Foreman got up long enough to turn off the light. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, dark blue silk, and then threw himself back down on the bed, interlocking his fingers behind his head. Physically, beating off had left him relaxed, but it hadn't done anything to help his thoughts. He set his jaw and reminded himself that he wouldn't be any better than any fucker who wouldn't listen to the word no if he acted like he'd been entitled to something. They'd already had sex once tonight. A week ago, single, he'd have thought that was more than enough. Foreman stared at the ceiling and forced out another breath. He had to get over himself, for fuck's sake. It wasn't Amber's fault. And, he knew, there would be other nights. She hadn't left.
A minute later, the door opened, and Amber stood framed in the light from the bathroom. Wearing something filmy, soft, that barely reached mid-thigh. Any other time, Foreman would wonder if it was for him. Not tonight, obviously, but she was still so beautiful. Foreman's muscles softened, although he didn't shift his position. "Hey," he said softly.