Down and Out(16)

I think I have some in here somewhere. . .
Jerkin’ my own gherkin is not something I do often, but when I do, it’s always in the shower. Clean up is so much easier that way, but I don’t feel like taking a shower for the sole purpose of busting a nut right now.
“Bingo.” I finally find an old bottle of Jergens and squirt a liberal amount into my palm, then pull my boxers down under my balls and slide my lathered hand along my shaft.
Shit, it’s cold.
It warms up after a couple pumps, and pretty soon the silky, gliding pressure has my heart racing and my free hand clutching the counter to steady myself.
My mind wanders to Savannah. She’s so unlike any other girl I’ve ever met. She’s got the face of an angel, but Jesus Christ, the mouth on that chick. I had no idea she was such a firecracker. She kept me on my toes the whole conversation and I loved every second of it.
I imagine what it’d be like to kiss those perfect, pouty lips and tangle my fingers in that long, wavy hair while I slide deep inside her. Or what she’d look like with her vibrator between her legs, her mouth parted in ecstasy as she works to get herself off. It’s got my hand pumping faster and my breath leaving me in hurried puffs as I feel the familiar tension settle into my muscles. My balls tighten. I’m so close—
“Oh my god!” Savannah’s surprised, horrified gasp rips me out of my high and turns my blood to ice as I freeze mid-pump and meet her wide eyes.
Fuck me, this cannot be happening.
I yank my boxers back up as she turns and smacks her face on the open door. She cups her nose in her hands as I wince and rush over to her.
“Are you okay?”
She squeals and thrashes out of my grip as blood drips from her nose. “Don’t touch me after that! Are you crazy?”
Dear God, kill me now.
I grab the hand towel hanging off the rack and hand it to her, ushering her out of the bathroom and into the living room. “Sit down, I’m gonna get you some ice.”
This cannot be happening to me. I’ve got to be dreaming. No way did Savannah just walk in on me while I was jacking off. And to her, no less! The world’s not that cruel, right? This has got to be some kind of nightmare, and I’m going to wake up at any second.
I pinch my arm, and nothing.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Disappearing into the kitchen, I wash my hands first, then after I’m done, I stuff some ice into a plastic baggie. When I return to the living room, she’s got her head tilted back with the towel covering her nose, and I hold out the ice. She looks at it skeptically as I sit next to her and sigh. “I washed my hands, okay?”
She takes it from me and switches the towel for it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in there and that you were . . . busy,” she says, glancing at the crotch of my boxer briefs.
I pull the sheet I was using over my lap and hang my head. At least I’m not hard anymore, but still. I want to die. And the case of blue balls I feel brewing is going to be epic. “It’s your fault,” I mutter. “All that vibrator talk got to me.”
“Oh my god, you were thinking about me?”
My head whips over at her disgusted tone. It’s only when I realize she’s trying not to laugh that my heart decides to restart itself.
She’s messing with me?
Thank God.
I place my hand over the erratic rhythm, like that can steady it. “That’s not funny.”
“I beg to differ.” She’s grinning at me as her head rests on the back of the couch. “That was hilarious. Even with all this,” she says, gesturing to the baggie full of ice pressed to her nose.
“Here, let me see.” I lean forward and take the bag from her, setting it on the coffee table. Placing my fingers on her chin, I tilt her head from side to side. It doesn’t look broken. The skin’s all red, but part of that might be from the ice, and the bleeding’s stopped. Exhaling, I release her chin and grab the ice for her again. “It might bruise, but I think you’ll live.”
Dropping her eyes, she fiddles with the bag. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I wince and hold up my hands to stop her. “Can we please stop talking about it? I want to die enough as it is.”
“Fair enough,” she says, leaning her head back to place the ice pack on her nose.
She’s watching me, that grin still skirting around her mouth, and I shake my head at the impossibly ridiculous turn of this evening’s events. I should be asleep in my own bed, not sitting on my couch, discussing my masturbatory habits with my female employee. My sassy female employee, who ignited said masturbatory episode.
I lean my head back against the couch like she’s doing. “You’re not at all like I thought you’d be.”
Her brow arches. “Oh, yeah? How’d you think I’d be?”
“Nice. Sweet. Quiet.”
“Ouch,” she says, though she’s amused.
“No, it’s a good thing.”
She does this cute scoff/laugh and takes the ice pack off her face. “You’ve basically just told me I’m mean and loud. How is that possibly a good thing?”
I shrug. “It’s refreshing. Most girls I meet are very . . . agreeable, and from what I’ve seen, you’re not like that.” I laugh and say, “If I told you the sky’s blue, you’d probably argue that it’s not.”
“Well, you’re right. It’s the middle of the night. The sky’s black right now.”
“See? Very disagreeable. I like that.” I shouldn’t, though. A girl like Savannah would take work. She’d take time and effort, and when it comes to chicks, that’s not how I roll.