Built to Last - Deleted Scene
Although I’m alone, energy burns through my nerves as if my fingers can feel Kelsey’s heating skin. As if her muscles are contracting under my touch and my cock is about to be buried inside her sweet heat.
Instead of climbing into bed where I’ll stare at the dark ceiling all night, I step into the shower to relieve the tension seizing every muscle. The warm water cascading over my tense shoulders and back is nice if only as a start. Sluicing water won’t help the real strain.
My cock has been in a state of high alert since the pub and, hours later, my balls are still heavy and aching.
I pour a generous handful of body wash into my palm and rub my hands together, warming and lathering it into thick suds. I look down to see my cock grow harder with the anticipation of finally getting the release it demands.
Long, slow, slick strokes don’t compare to what Kelsey’s tight pussy wrapped around me would be like. I pump from root to tip, hearing her moans in my ear and feeling her fingers on my scalp. I think of her eyes fluttering closed, too heavy with lust to remain open. I feel her tits and her hard nipples rubbing up and down my chest, making themselves harder.
I think of every possible position, every calibre of sound, every fucking bodily response until I’m convinced that I won’t be able to come without her in the shower with me, reaching for me. Positive she’s ruined me without even having her yet. Sure that I’ll die from blue balls and be found naked with my limp cock in my hand by a growly Owen when I don’t show up for work on Monday.
My rumbling voice splutters as water fills my upturned mouth, snarling at the stream falling from the ceiling. I fist myself harder until suds fly off the angry purple head of my shaft, splattering patterns on the glass walls that surround me. The bubbles slide down at a leisurely rate, mocking the furious pace at which I jack myself. Teasing me with their unhurried travels. Taunting me with deliberate delicacy.
I stare at the bubbles’ slow descent, wanting them to hurry, angry that they won’t. Cursing how they mock my conversation with Kelsey when I told her to slow down. That we should take our time.
Her words echo in my head: We don’t have the luxury of time.
Fuck that. There’s always time for the things that matter.
My fingers loosen their stranglehold. I smooth out my rhythm, dial back the intensity. I take a beat to feel my palm gliding, to enjoy the caress and to exercise some restraint. Slowly now, I glide my hand back and forth. I tease my head, I fondle my balls.
That’s all it takes for pressure to build at the base of my cock and my balls tighten for the final time tonight. My cries of rapture echo off the walls before my orgasm dawns and when I finally come hot and hard all over the shower wall, my voice is jagged. Legs jerking and hips bucking, I grasp at the cool glass. My fingers streak noisily down the fogged-up surface, praying it will brace my collapse into a heap in the corner.
I sit, huddled on the floor for several minutes, catching my breath and my thoughts.
I may not know much about Kelsey, but I’m sure she’s different from any woman I’ve dated. I will not let whatever Owen’s done to Izzy or a stupid bet between Brett and Greg dictate who I date.