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
