Diary of a Bad Boy(39)
Hell. I release my cock and use two hands to type, making it faster.
Roark: You’re naked on my bed, your porcelain skin a brilliant contrast against my black comforter. Your hair is fanned out, lips parted, nipples hard as pebbles, legs spread, and your pussy’s wet and ready for me. You’re writhing beneath me as I drive my cock deep inside of you. And in the distance, I can hear your soft cries of pleasure as I make you come over and over again.
I toss my phone to the side and grip my cock tighter, the picture I painted so vivid in my mind that I forget about texting and focus on the pleasure ripping through my body. Chest rapidly moving up and down, my teeth grinding together, I feel my blood pooling at the base of my cock, my orgasm seconds away . . . when there is a knock at my door.
I still, wondering if I imagined the sound. “Roark?”
“Sutton,” I breathe out heavily. “Go back to your goddamn room.”
The door creaks open and in seconds I’m flying out of bed, nabbing a discarded shirt from the ground to cover my junk as she peers around the door, wearing only the shirt I let her borrow. Her eyes widen when she sees me, dropping right to my crotch and then back up. Thank God I have the shirt covering me up or else she’d be getting quite the show.
“Leave, Sutton.”
She takes another step forward, my resolve seconds from snapping as she reaches out for my hand. I let her take it because I’m a fool. She pulls me closer, and the only thing blocking her view of my hard-on is a black T-shirt. Her fingers dance up my arm to my shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut as she lightly explores my chest, her nails scraping along my skin and over my nipple.
I suck in a sharp breath and quickly pin her against the wall, her wandering hand above her head as I stare at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Exploring,” she answers unabashedly. “You said you were thinking about me. Why not have the real thing?”
My cock jumps at the thought. I could easily take her right now. Toss her on the bed, spread her legs, and have my wicked way with her. Even though my body is humming for that to happen, my head is telling me no.
“You know I can’t have the real thing.” Unlocking her hand from the wall, I cup her cheek and slowly rub my thumb across her skin. So soft. “I can’t.”
Her hopeful eyes dim. “Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“But you want me?” I nod, unable to voice my need. “Okay then.” She lets out a sigh. “That’s always nice to hear.” With a sad smile, she walks to the door, and I feel like a giant asshole.
“I’m sorry, Sutton.”
“I know, me too.”
Chapter Ten
Dear Winston,
Saw the evil wench today. She told me I still have a lot of inner rage. More like pent-up frustration. It’s like someone has put a cork up my pee-hole and told me I’m not allowed to come. Maybe an overreaction since I’ve jacked-off twice a day, every day this week. But when I’m around Sutton, which is a lot, it feels like I’m blocked up, and the pressure keeps building and building until I get fucking mad.
And for some unknown reason, I can’t seem to find my way to any nightclubs. They don’t interest me. Instead, I stay at home, tumbler in hand, watching some irrelevant show on TV while I text Sutton.
I’m not a texter. I’ve never been a texter, but good Christ, when I see her name pop up on my phone, I get . . . fuck, I get giddy.
What’s that shit about?
I shouldn’t be that excited to receive a text, especially since what we talk about isn’t even of importance. There are a few texts here and there about the camp, but the majority of our texts are her talking about something positive, and me being a dick about it.
Anyway, when the therapist—can’t remember her name to save my life, but who cares—asked me if there were any new developments in my life, I almost said, “There’s this girl.” But thank fuck, I caught myself. That would have been opening a can of worms I wasn’t ready for. So, you’re the one who gets to hear about it.
There ya go, Winny.
Roark
ROARK
“There’s my man,” Foster says, walking up to me with an open hand. I clasp it just before he pulls me into a hug. “How’s it going?”
“Ya know.” I chuckle, trying to hide the panic in my eyes. Has Sutton talked to him? Has she told him anything about us? Not that there is an us, but has she said anything? You know, something incriminating like I saw your agent’s ass, or your agent told me he wants to fuck me, or your agent can’t stop staring at my tits when we’re working.
Why didn’t I check with her beforehand?
Because then it would seem like we’re hiding something and believe me, we’re not hiding anything. If we were hiding something, my dick would know about it.
We both take a seat at the table I was trying to work at while waiting for Foster but didn’t get much done besides one pass through a contract.
I point to the glass on the table and say, “Already ordered your steak, and it should be ready shortly.”
He picks up his iced tea and takes a sip. “You’re full service, aren’t you?”
“Only for the divas,” I say, garnering a chuckle from Foster.