"What’s the point of vacuuming if you’re just gonna do it again tomorrow?" I muttered to the empty apartment, pressing the power button on the vacuum cleaner. The sudden silence felt heavier than the hum of the machine had been.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, glancing around. The living room was spotless—floors gleaming, cushions perfectly plumped, not a single speck of dust on the coffee table. Even the books on the shelf were arranged by height.
I sighed and stretched out on the couch, the leather cool against my bare arms. My fingers drummed against my thigh for a second before slipping under the waistband of my sweatpants. The tension in my shoulders melted away as soon as I touched myself.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting warm stripes across my stomach. I arched my back slightly, already feeling that familiar heat pooling low in my gut. Everything else—the cleaning, the quiet, the empty apartment—faded into background noise.
I hooked my thumbs in the elastic and pushed my pants down just enough to free my cock. The air was cool against my skin, but it didn't take long before I was fully hard, stroking slowly just to feel the weight of it in my hand.
The silence wasn't oppressive anymore—it was charged, private. My breathing hitched as my grip tightened, the rhythm building with each pass of my palm. The couch creaked faintly under my shifting weight, but I barely noticed.
My balls tightened as I sped up, thighs tensing. The smell of my own sweat mixed with the leather upholstery, musky and thick. I let my head fall back, eyes shut tight, imagining the wet warmth of another body pressing against mine—someone watching, someone wanting this just as badly.
The t-shirt landed somewhere near the coffee table with a soft flutter, forgotten. I kicked my sweatpants off completely, fabric pooling around my ankles before I shoved them aside with my foot. The air felt electric now, every inch of skin hyper-aware—the way my nipples hardened against nothing, the way my stomach muscles twitched with each stroke.
I spread my legs wider, one foot planted on the floor for leverage, the other still half tangled in the discarded sweatpants. The arch of my bare back pressed deeper into the couch cushions as my strokes grew rougher, the sound of skin on skin obscenely loud in the quiet apartment. My cock twitched, already leaking—the wetness making the glide smoother, hotter.
The first knock sounded like a gunshot in my ears. I froze mid-stroke, hips jerking involuntarily. My cock still pulsed in my fist, angry-red and swollen, as my brain scrambled to process the interruption. "Fuck," I hissed, realization crashing over me—the goddamn internet technician I'd rescheduled three times already. Right fucking now?
A second knock, sharper this time. My stomach swooped like I'd missed a step on the stairs. I yanked my sweatpants up with one frantic hand, the elastic waistband snapping against my dick hard enough to make me wince. My discarded t-shirt might as well have been on Mars. The knocking turned into a rhythmic rap. I wiped my palm on my thigh, swallowed the groan clawing up my throat, and padded to the door barefoot and bare-chested, sweat cooling between my shoulder blades.
Through the peephole, the distorted outline of a person—broad shoulders, ID badge clipped to a navy polo—made my pulse spike. Not a woman. Thank fuck. But then I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror: flushed cheeks, hair sticking up where I'd been gripping it, the unmistakable tent in my sweats. I exhaled hard through my nose, adjusted myself as discreetly as possible, and opened the door.
The technician smiled—easy, professional—but his gaze flicked down my bare chest before snapping back up. "Afternoon, sir. I’m from TurboNet." His voice was deeper than I expected, smooth like he'd practiced saying that line a thousand times. His name tag gleamed under the hallway fluorescents: JOSH in bold letters above the company logo. Up close, his skin had this warm, golden undertone, and his eyelashes were unfairly long for a dude. My dick throbbed against my thigh like it had its own pulse.
I cleared my throat, blocking half the doorway with my body. "Sorry about the... uh." I gestured uselessly at my bare torso. "Was doing some repairs. Plumbing." His eyebrow twitched—barely perceptible—but I caught it. Fuck, that was a shitty lie. The apartment reeked of leather polish and bleach, nothing remotely plumber-esque about it. Sweat prickled under my arms.
Josh nodded slowly, his smirk widening just enough to show one dimple. His eyes dipped again—lingering this time—before meeting mine with deliberate innocence. "No worries, man." He adjusted the tool belt slung low on his hips, drawing attention to how his navy polo stretched tight across his chest when he moved. "Happens more than you'd think." The corner of his mouth curled upward as he tapped his clipboard. "Mind if I come in?"
I stepped aside too fast, my pulse roaring in my ears. The brush of his arm against mine sent a jolt down my spine—whether accidental or not, I couldn't tell. His aftershave hit me first—something woodsy and sharp—then the warmth radiating off him as he crossed the threshold. My sweatpants clung obscenely, fabric straining with every step. I clenched my jaw and gestured down the hall. "Modem's in the bedroom."
Josh's boots made soft thuds against the hardwood, his posture relaxed like he hadn't just clocked my half-hard cock twitching against my thigh. But when I reached past him to open the bedroom door, he leaned back—just slightly—letting my bare chest graze his shoulder.
My mouth went dry. His tool belt creaked as he crouched to inspect the wiring, the muscles in his thighs flexing under the stiff fabric of his work pants. Sunlight cut across his profile—the strong line of his nose, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. I gripped the doorframe to keep from reaching out.
Less than three minutes later, he straightened abruptly, wiping his palms on his thighs. "All set," he said, holding up a frayed ethernet cable like a trophy. "Old one was toast." The smirk playing at the corners of his lips made my stomach flip. "Mind running a speed test?"
I fumbled my phone from my pocket, acutely aware of his eyes tracking the movement. The screen lit up—100% connected—but my thumb hesitated over the browser icon. Josh shifted closer, peering over my shoulder. His breath warmed the side of my neck. "Looks good," I managed, voice cracking.
He chuckled—low, deliberate—and stepped back with an exaggerated stretch that pulled his polo taut across his chest. "Job's done, then." The tool belt jingled as he hooked his thumbs through the loops. His gaze dropped pointedly to my tented sweats before flicking back up.
I swallowed hard, tongue suddenly too thick for my mouth. "Yeah, thanks. Appreciate it." The words hung stiffly between us, painfully formal. Josh turned toward the door, boots scuffing the hardwood—then stopped mid-step.
"Unless," he said slowly, pivoting on his heel, "you need help with that plumbing fix." His voice dropped half an octave, rougher now. He rolled his shoulders like a boxer stepping into the ring. "I'm done for the day anyway."
My exhale came out shaky. I wet my lips—deliberately this time—and nodded. "Might... need some help." The waistband of my sweatpants was already slipping, fabric dragging lower with every throb between my legs. Josh's nostrils flared, pupils blown wide as he closed the distance in two strides.
"Alright, let me see the pipe that needs fixing," he growled, crowding me back against the wall. His calloused palm skimmed my hipbone, thumb hooking under elastic. My sweatpants hit the floor with a whisper, cock springing free—already leaking, tip glistening under the overhead light.
Josh exhaled sharply through his nose, grip tightening as he dragged his thumb through the slickness pooling at my slit. The groan I'd been choking back ripped free when he twisted his wrist on the upstroke, foreskin catching deliciously. His fingers squeezed tighter as he pumped me roughly, spit-slick strokes bordering on pain.
I grabbed his collar, dragging him into me. Our teeth clashed before his mouth yielded—hot, insistent—tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that made my knees buckle. He tasted like stale coffee and wintergreen gum, the faint prickle of beard burn igniting my skin everywhere we touched. His free hand fisted in my hair, angling my head back to deepen the kiss while his other hand worked my cock relentlessly.
Something metal clattered—his tool belt hitting the floor—before he shoved me backward onto the couch. My thighs spread instinctively, heels digging into the cushions as he dropped to his knees between them. "Fuck," I panted, watching his tongue swipe across his bottom lip. His smirk was filthy, eyes locked on mine as he leaned in—slow, deliberate—breath ghosting over my twitching cock.
The first lick was torturous—just the flat of his tongue dragging up the underside, savoring the taste of me. He groaned like I was the one doing him a favor, fingers digging bruises into my hips. When he finally took me down, it wasn't gentle—his throat opened hot and greedy, nose pressing into my pelvis as he swallowed me whole. The wet suction punched a ragged moan from my chest, my hips jerking involuntarily.
His fingers tightened warningly, nails biting skin as he pulled off with a filthy pop. "Stay still," he rasped, dragging his stubble along my inner thigh before sealing his mouth around the head. The contrast—the rough scrape of his jaw against tender flesh while his tongue swirled relentlessly—had my balls drawing up tight. I fisted my hands in his hair, hips straining not to thrust as he hummed around me, vibrations rattling up my spine.
The third time he deepthroated me, I hauled him up by his collar, buttons scattering across the floor as I tore his polo open. His chest flushed pink under my mouth, muscles jumping when I bit his nipple—hard enough to leave marks. I wrestled with Josh’s pants as I tried to unbutton them, his laughter rough in my ear. "Impatient," he taunted, swatting my hands away to undo it himself. His pants pooled around his ankles, revealing thick thighs dusted with golden hair and a cock that made my mouth water—curved slightly upward, flushed dark red at the tip with a vein pulsing along the length.
He stepped out of the fabric puddle, fully naked now, and gripped himself at the base. The head glistened where precome beaded, the musk of him—salt and skin and something earthy—filling my lungs as I leaned in. My tongue flicked out experimentally, catching the bitter-salt taste before I took him deep, gagging slightly at the stretch. Josh's hips jerked forward with a groan, one hand fisting in my hair while the other braced against the wall behind me. "Fuck, your mouth," he gritted out, thighs trembling as I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder.
The angle was brutal—his cock hitting the back of my throat with each shallow thrust, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I gagged, spit dripping down my chin, but Josh didn't let up, his grip tightening as he fucked my face in short, sharp strokes. My nose pressed into the rough thatch of hair at his pelvis, the scent of him overwhelming, my own cock throbbing untouched between my legs. He groaned something unintelligible, hips stuttering, and I knew he was close—could taste it in the way his cock twitched against my tongue.
He pulled out abruptly, a string of spit connecting us as he dragged me up by the hair. His mouth crashed into mine, tongue probing deep as if chasing his own taste. I moaned into the kiss, grinding against his thigh, the rough friction almost enough to push me over the edge. Josh broke away panting, pupils blown black with desire. "Bed," he growled, pushing me backward until my knees hit the mattress. "Now."
I fell onto the sheets, scrambling to get on all fours as Josh retrieved something from his discarded tool belt—a foil packet glinting in the low light. The crinkle of the condom wrapper sent a jolt through me, my hole clenching involuntarily at the thought of what was coming. Josh climbed onto the bed behind me, his cock slick with lube now, the head nudging against my entrance. "Relax," he murmured, pressing in slowly, the stretch burning in the best way. I buried my face in the pillows, muffling a moan as he bottomed out, hips flush against my ass.
He paused there, letting me adjust, his hands kneading my hips like dough. When he finally pulled back, the drag was exquisite—every ridge of him lighting up nerves I didn't know I had. His thrusts built gradually, each one deeper than the last, my body yielding to his rhythm. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with my ragged breathing. Josh leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back, and bit my shoulder—sharp enough to make me gasp.
The pace turned punishing, his hips pistoning against my ass with relentless precision. My cock swung heavy between my thighs, untouched and aching with every brutal thrust. Josh's fingers dug into my flesh, holding me in place as he fucked me hard, the bedframe slamming against the wall in time with his movements. "Take it," he growled into my ear, voice rough and wrecked. "Fucking take it all."
My vision blurred at the edges, pleasure coiling tight in my gut. He reached around, wrapping a calloused hand around my cock, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—his cock filling me up while his hand milked me with rough, uneven strokes. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, my orgasm building like a storm surge, inevitable and devastating.
Josh's rhythm faltered, his thrusts losing their precision as his breath came in ragged gasps. "Gonna—" he managed before his hips stuttered, his whole body tensing as he came with a broken groan. His hand tightened around me reflexively, and that was all it took—my orgasm ripped through me like a live wire, painting the sheets in hot stripes as I collapsed onto my elbows, trembling and spent.
He slumped forward, his sweat-slick chest pressing against my back, his softening cock still buried inside me. I could feel his heartbeat thundering against my spine, his breath warm and damp on my shoulder. For a long moment, neither of us moved, the only sound our ragged breathing and the faint ticking of the bedroom clock. Gradually, the tension ebbed from his body, and his cock slipped out of me with a wet pop, leaving me hollow and oversensitive.
Josh rolled off me with a grunt, padding naked to the bathroom without a word. He returned with a damp washcloth, tossing it onto my stomach before peeling the condom off his spent cock. It bulged obscenely at the tip, heavy with his load. He pinched the base, expertly twisting it into a knot with a smirk. "Here," he said, dangling it in front of my face like a trophy. "Complimentary gift from TurboNet. Premium package."
I watched him dress from the doorway, my thighs still trembling, the ache between them delicious. The navy polo clung to his damp back as he shrugged it on, fabric stretching tight across his shoulders. He bent to retrieve his belt buckle—still half-buried in the carpet—and I caught the flash of his teeth as he grinned. "Survey's coming," he warned, stepping into his boots. "I expect nothing less than a five-star rating."
I barked a laugh, leaning against the wall. "Five?" My voice sounded wrecked—thick with sleep and sex and something dangerously close to affection. "I'd give you five hundred if I could." The words slipped out before I could stop them, stupid and earnest as sunlight slanted across the wreckage of my sheets.
Josh paused with his hand on the doorknob, silhouetted by the hallway light. His smirk softened just for a second—a glimpse of something real beneath the swagger. "Always happy to be of service," he murmured, knuckles grazing my hip as he passed. The door clicked shut behind him.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, glancing around. The living room was spotless—floors gleaming, cushions perfectly plumped, not a single speck of dust on the coffee table. Even the books on the shelf were arranged by height.
I sighed and stretched out on the couch, the leather cool against my bare arms. My fingers drummed against my thigh for a second before slipping under the waistband of my sweatpants. The tension in my shoulders melted away as soon as I touched myself.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting warm stripes across my stomach. I arched my back slightly, already feeling that familiar heat pooling low in my gut. Everything else—the cleaning, the quiet, the empty apartment—faded into background noise.
I hooked my thumbs in the elastic and pushed my pants down just enough to free my cock. The air was cool against my skin, but it didn't take long before I was fully hard, stroking slowly just to feel the weight of it in my hand.
The silence wasn't oppressive anymore—it was charged, private. My breathing hitched as my grip tightened, the rhythm building with each pass of my palm. The couch creaked faintly under my shifting weight, but I barely noticed.
My balls tightened as I sped up, thighs tensing. The smell of my own sweat mixed with the leather upholstery, musky and thick. I let my head fall back, eyes shut tight, imagining the wet warmth of another body pressing against mine—someone watching, someone wanting this just as badly.
The t-shirt landed somewhere near the coffee table with a soft flutter, forgotten. I kicked my sweatpants off completely, fabric pooling around my ankles before I shoved them aside with my foot. The air felt electric now, every inch of skin hyper-aware—the way my nipples hardened against nothing, the way my stomach muscles twitched with each stroke.
I spread my legs wider, one foot planted on the floor for leverage, the other still half tangled in the discarded sweatpants. The arch of my bare back pressed deeper into the couch cushions as my strokes grew rougher, the sound of skin on skin obscenely loud in the quiet apartment. My cock twitched, already leaking—the wetness making the glide smoother, hotter.
The first knock sounded like a gunshot in my ears. I froze mid-stroke, hips jerking involuntarily. My cock still pulsed in my fist, angry-red and swollen, as my brain scrambled to process the interruption. "Fuck," I hissed, realization crashing over me—the goddamn internet technician I'd rescheduled three times already. Right fucking now?
A second knock, sharper this time. My stomach swooped like I'd missed a step on the stairs. I yanked my sweatpants up with one frantic hand, the elastic waistband snapping against my dick hard enough to make me wince. My discarded t-shirt might as well have been on Mars. The knocking turned into a rhythmic rap. I wiped my palm on my thigh, swallowed the groan clawing up my throat, and padded to the door barefoot and bare-chested, sweat cooling between my shoulder blades.
Through the peephole, the distorted outline of a person—broad shoulders, ID badge clipped to a navy polo—made my pulse spike. Not a woman. Thank fuck. But then I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror: flushed cheeks, hair sticking up where I'd been gripping it, the unmistakable tent in my sweats. I exhaled hard through my nose, adjusted myself as discreetly as possible, and opened the door.
The technician smiled—easy, professional—but his gaze flicked down my bare chest before snapping back up. "Afternoon, sir. I’m from TurboNet." His voice was deeper than I expected, smooth like he'd practiced saying that line a thousand times. His name tag gleamed under the hallway fluorescents: JOSH in bold letters above the company logo. Up close, his skin had this warm, golden undertone, and his eyelashes were unfairly long for a dude. My dick throbbed against my thigh like it had its own pulse.
I cleared my throat, blocking half the doorway with my body. "Sorry about the... uh." I gestured uselessly at my bare torso. "Was doing some repairs. Plumbing." His eyebrow twitched—barely perceptible—but I caught it. Fuck, that was a shitty lie. The apartment reeked of leather polish and bleach, nothing remotely plumber-esque about it. Sweat prickled under my arms.
Josh nodded slowly, his smirk widening just enough to show one dimple. His eyes dipped again—lingering this time—before meeting mine with deliberate innocence. "No worries, man." He adjusted the tool belt slung low on his hips, drawing attention to how his navy polo stretched tight across his chest when he moved. "Happens more than you'd think." The corner of his mouth curled upward as he tapped his clipboard. "Mind if I come in?"
I stepped aside too fast, my pulse roaring in my ears. The brush of his arm against mine sent a jolt down my spine—whether accidental or not, I couldn't tell. His aftershave hit me first—something woodsy and sharp—then the warmth radiating off him as he crossed the threshold. My sweatpants clung obscenely, fabric straining with every step. I clenched my jaw and gestured down the hall. "Modem's in the bedroom."
Josh's boots made soft thuds against the hardwood, his posture relaxed like he hadn't just clocked my half-hard cock twitching against my thigh. But when I reached past him to open the bedroom door, he leaned back—just slightly—letting my bare chest graze his shoulder.
My mouth went dry. His tool belt creaked as he crouched to inspect the wiring, the muscles in his thighs flexing under the stiff fabric of his work pants. Sunlight cut across his profile—the strong line of his nose, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. I gripped the doorframe to keep from reaching out.
Less than three minutes later, he straightened abruptly, wiping his palms on his thighs. "All set," he said, holding up a frayed ethernet cable like a trophy. "Old one was toast." The smirk playing at the corners of his lips made my stomach flip. "Mind running a speed test?"
I fumbled my phone from my pocket, acutely aware of his eyes tracking the movement. The screen lit up—100% connected—but my thumb hesitated over the browser icon. Josh shifted closer, peering over my shoulder. His breath warmed the side of my neck. "Looks good," I managed, voice cracking.
He chuckled—low, deliberate—and stepped back with an exaggerated stretch that pulled his polo taut across his chest. "Job's done, then." The tool belt jingled as he hooked his thumbs through the loops. His gaze dropped pointedly to my tented sweats before flicking back up.
I swallowed hard, tongue suddenly too thick for my mouth. "Yeah, thanks. Appreciate it." The words hung stiffly between us, painfully formal. Josh turned toward the door, boots scuffing the hardwood—then stopped mid-step.
"Unless," he said slowly, pivoting on his heel, "you need help with that plumbing fix." His voice dropped half an octave, rougher now. He rolled his shoulders like a boxer stepping into the ring. "I'm done for the day anyway."
My exhale came out shaky. I wet my lips—deliberately this time—and nodded. "Might... need some help." The waistband of my sweatpants was already slipping, fabric dragging lower with every throb between my legs. Josh's nostrils flared, pupils blown wide as he closed the distance in two strides.
"Alright, let me see the pipe that needs fixing," he growled, crowding me back against the wall. His calloused palm skimmed my hipbone, thumb hooking under elastic. My sweatpants hit the floor with a whisper, cock springing free—already leaking, tip glistening under the overhead light.
Josh exhaled sharply through his nose, grip tightening as he dragged his thumb through the slickness pooling at my slit. The groan I'd been choking back ripped free when he twisted his wrist on the upstroke, foreskin catching deliciously. His fingers squeezed tighter as he pumped me roughly, spit-slick strokes bordering on pain.
I grabbed his collar, dragging him into me. Our teeth clashed before his mouth yielded—hot, insistent—tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that made my knees buckle. He tasted like stale coffee and wintergreen gum, the faint prickle of beard burn igniting my skin everywhere we touched. His free hand fisted in my hair, angling my head back to deepen the kiss while his other hand worked my cock relentlessly.
Something metal clattered—his tool belt hitting the floor—before he shoved me backward onto the couch. My thighs spread instinctively, heels digging into the cushions as he dropped to his knees between them. "Fuck," I panted, watching his tongue swipe across his bottom lip. His smirk was filthy, eyes locked on mine as he leaned in—slow, deliberate—breath ghosting over my twitching cock.
The first lick was torturous—just the flat of his tongue dragging up the underside, savoring the taste of me. He groaned like I was the one doing him a favor, fingers digging bruises into my hips. When he finally took me down, it wasn't gentle—his throat opened hot and greedy, nose pressing into my pelvis as he swallowed me whole. The wet suction punched a ragged moan from my chest, my hips jerking involuntarily.
His fingers tightened warningly, nails biting skin as he pulled off with a filthy pop. "Stay still," he rasped, dragging his stubble along my inner thigh before sealing his mouth around the head. The contrast—the rough scrape of his jaw against tender flesh while his tongue swirled relentlessly—had my balls drawing up tight. I fisted my hands in his hair, hips straining not to thrust as he hummed around me, vibrations rattling up my spine.
The third time he deepthroated me, I hauled him up by his collar, buttons scattering across the floor as I tore his polo open. His chest flushed pink under my mouth, muscles jumping when I bit his nipple—hard enough to leave marks. I wrestled with Josh’s pants as I tried to unbutton them, his laughter rough in my ear. "Impatient," he taunted, swatting my hands away to undo it himself. His pants pooled around his ankles, revealing thick thighs dusted with golden hair and a cock that made my mouth water—curved slightly upward, flushed dark red at the tip with a vein pulsing along the length.
He stepped out of the fabric puddle, fully naked now, and gripped himself at the base. The head glistened where precome beaded, the musk of him—salt and skin and something earthy—filling my lungs as I leaned in. My tongue flicked out experimentally, catching the bitter-salt taste before I took him deep, gagging slightly at the stretch. Josh's hips jerked forward with a groan, one hand fisting in my hair while the other braced against the wall behind me. "Fuck, your mouth," he gritted out, thighs trembling as I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder.
The angle was brutal—his cock hitting the back of my throat with each shallow thrust, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I gagged, spit dripping down my chin, but Josh didn't let up, his grip tightening as he fucked my face in short, sharp strokes. My nose pressed into the rough thatch of hair at his pelvis, the scent of him overwhelming, my own cock throbbing untouched between my legs. He groaned something unintelligible, hips stuttering, and I knew he was close—could taste it in the way his cock twitched against my tongue.
He pulled out abruptly, a string of spit connecting us as he dragged me up by the hair. His mouth crashed into mine, tongue probing deep as if chasing his own taste. I moaned into the kiss, grinding against his thigh, the rough friction almost enough to push me over the edge. Josh broke away panting, pupils blown black with desire. "Bed," he growled, pushing me backward until my knees hit the mattress. "Now."
I fell onto the sheets, scrambling to get on all fours as Josh retrieved something from his discarded tool belt—a foil packet glinting in the low light. The crinkle of the condom wrapper sent a jolt through me, my hole clenching involuntarily at the thought of what was coming. Josh climbed onto the bed behind me, his cock slick with lube now, the head nudging against my entrance. "Relax," he murmured, pressing in slowly, the stretch burning in the best way. I buried my face in the pillows, muffling a moan as he bottomed out, hips flush against my ass.
He paused there, letting me adjust, his hands kneading my hips like dough. When he finally pulled back, the drag was exquisite—every ridge of him lighting up nerves I didn't know I had. His thrusts built gradually, each one deeper than the last, my body yielding to his rhythm. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with my ragged breathing. Josh leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back, and bit my shoulder—sharp enough to make me gasp.
The pace turned punishing, his hips pistoning against my ass with relentless precision. My cock swung heavy between my thighs, untouched and aching with every brutal thrust. Josh's fingers dug into my flesh, holding me in place as he fucked me hard, the bedframe slamming against the wall in time with his movements. "Take it," he growled into my ear, voice rough and wrecked. "Fucking take it all."
My vision blurred at the edges, pleasure coiling tight in my gut. He reached around, wrapping a calloused hand around my cock, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—his cock filling me up while his hand milked me with rough, uneven strokes. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, my orgasm building like a storm surge, inevitable and devastating.
Josh's rhythm faltered, his thrusts losing their precision as his breath came in ragged gasps. "Gonna—" he managed before his hips stuttered, his whole body tensing as he came with a broken groan. His hand tightened around me reflexively, and that was all it took—my orgasm ripped through me like a live wire, painting the sheets in hot stripes as I collapsed onto my elbows, trembling and spent.
He slumped forward, his sweat-slick chest pressing against my back, his softening cock still buried inside me. I could feel his heartbeat thundering against my spine, his breath warm and damp on my shoulder. For a long moment, neither of us moved, the only sound our ragged breathing and the faint ticking of the bedroom clock. Gradually, the tension ebbed from his body, and his cock slipped out of me with a wet pop, leaving me hollow and oversensitive.
Josh rolled off me with a grunt, padding naked to the bathroom without a word. He returned with a damp washcloth, tossing it onto my stomach before peeling the condom off his spent cock. It bulged obscenely at the tip, heavy with his load. He pinched the base, expertly twisting it into a knot with a smirk. "Here," he said, dangling it in front of my face like a trophy. "Complimentary gift from TurboNet. Premium package."
I watched him dress from the doorway, my thighs still trembling, the ache between them delicious. The navy polo clung to his damp back as he shrugged it on, fabric stretching tight across his shoulders. He bent to retrieve his belt buckle—still half-buried in the carpet—and I caught the flash of his teeth as he grinned. "Survey's coming," he warned, stepping into his boots. "I expect nothing less than a five-star rating."
I barked a laugh, leaning against the wall. "Five?" My voice sounded wrecked—thick with sleep and sex and something dangerously close to affection. "I'd give you five hundred if I could." The words slipped out before I could stop them, stupid and earnest as sunlight slanted across the wreckage of my sheets.
Josh paused with his hand on the doorknob, silhouetted by the hallway light. His smirk softened just for a second—a glimpse of something real beneath the swagger. "Always happy to be of service," he murmured, knuckles grazing my hip as he passed. The door clicked shut behind him.
