I found Zane crashed on the couch looking sleepy but watching the news on TV. He blinked at me, and then jerked a thumb at the hallway. “His room’s the one at the very end.”
Sebastian’s door was closed but not latched, so I went in. He had a king size bed with a simple metal railing headboard and footboard, with messy flannel sheets and a thick fleece blanket. A dresser with six drawers, one of them open, a T-shirt hanging half out, a dish on top containing a handful of change, a Leatherman multitool, and an old silver watch. Underwear on the floor, a pair of jeans. An old, battered Taylor acoustic guitar in the corner sitting on the wide bottom, a pick in the strings on the neck. A pair of Timberland boots, well worn. A wool pea coat hanging off the open door of the closet, looking like it had been hanging there on the open door since the end of last winter. Nothing on the walls, no alarm clock, no phone cord or radio or anything, nothing electronic at all, as a matter of fact. The only things on the nightstand table next to the bed were a litre bottle of water and a small framed black and white photo of a woman, who I assumed was his mother, standing next to a man who I assumed was his father.
No Sebastian, though.
The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and I peeked in, got a glimpse in the mirror of Sebastian standing facing the toilet.
Legs spread wide apart, head ducked, shoulders heaving. Jeans tugged down around his thighs to bare a taut, muscular ass with a dusting of dark hair. One of his hands was braced on the wall in front of his face, his arm straightened to hold up his weight, and the other was in front of his body. He was rigid, his ass flexed forward. His arm was moving back and forth slowly.
“Fuck…” he groaned, his voice low and snarling.
And unexpected. I jumped when he growled that curse word, caught spying on him. Watching him masturbate.
“Dru…fuck—” he rumbled.
He was jerking off thinking about me? My heart hammered, my gut twisted, my hands shook, and my core heated.
I couldn’t look away. Absolutely could not.
I moved slightly, adjusting my angle so now instead of seeing just his back, I could see more of his profile in the mirror. His fist sliding up and down his huge, hard length. And I do mean huge and hard.
I watched as he stroked himself, and felt heat billow through me, felt wetness seep into my panties. He didn’t hurry, just stroked himself slowly and leisurely, taking his time. After a couple minutes of slow stroking, his hips started to flex back and forth, and his breath started to huff past gritted teeth, and his fist started to move a little faster.
He hadn’t seen me; his eyes were shut tight, his jaw clenched as his fist flew faster and faster.
And then he stopped. His eyes flicked open, and he reached out, pumped a handful of lotion into his palm, smeared it on his cock, and began stroking again, starting slowly and working quickly back up to speed.
“Dru…god, Dru…”
My heart hammered every time he said my name, and my core dripped desire at the sight of his big hand sliding up and down his huge, hard cock. I pictured my own hand on him, stroking him…I’d need both hands, and could probably only fit a little bit into my mouth.
But then he glanced in the mirror, and saw me.
“See something you like, Dru?” he said, his voice a growling bass murmur.
“Yes,” I heard myself say. “Don’t stop.”
He resumed stroking his cock, but didn’t take his eyes off mine in the mirror. “Come in here.” I pushed open the door enough to slip through, and then closed it behind me. Sebastian used his free hand to shove aside the shower curtain. “Sit.”
I sat on the edge of the tub, trembling, inches away from him. Inches away from his thick cock. I stared up at him, trying to look more daring than I felt.
“Why’re you here, Dru?” he asked, his fist not stopping, still sliding slowly along his shaft.
“I—I want to forget, Sebastian. I just—I just want to forget. Like you said. Feel good for awhile.”
“Gonna freak out on me again?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
He smirked. “Fair enough.” He glanced down at himself, and we both watched him stroking his dick. “You like to watch?”
“I’ve never watched—this, before. Never watched anyone do this.”
“Never had anybody watch before either.”
I licked my lips, glanced from his eyes to his cock. “Keep going.”
So he did.
His fist slid up and down, slowly, leisurely, the lotion squelching wetly with each stroke. Then he started to jerk, going faster, and his jaw clenched, and his molars began to flex and pulse as he ground his cock into his flying fist.
I ached.