The finish line is in sight. Here is an excerpt from my upcoming novel Missionary.
My hands shook as I attempted to get my key in the door. I’d berated myself on the walk home, the inability to keep my thoughts professional bothering me. I needed this job, and if I ever got caught snooping it would be gone in a heartbeat. It’s one thing to have the hots for your boss, another to be a peeping tom.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, not wanting to give in to urges I shouldn’t be having in the first place. His eyes looked directly into mine whenever I closed them, and I was unable to process what this meant. The fact was, I was unused to these feelings. I’d been a hermit for so long that lust had become an unfamiliar companion, so when it reared it’s three-horned head, I floundered for reasons to actually feel the way I did. I went to the kitchen for a glass of juice, and when I reached up into the cabinet for a glass I found myself grinding my dick into the countertop, my breathing heavy. Shit, I’m humping my kitchen.
Something’s got to give.
I left my glass in the kitchen, went to the bedroom and threw myself on the bed. I ignored my first instinct and grabbed my laptop instead, opening up the novel I was apparently never going to finish, thinking I could pour my frustrations into the manuscript. Maybe intellectual exercise would distract me from the boner that would not die. Memories of Fernando greeting me this morning was fresh in my ears, and my eyes. The black pajama bottoms clinging to him, and the contrast between his olive skin and the tight white fabric of his t-shirt played on repeat, while I worked harder to keep the image of his near naked body swimming laps even further away.
Maybe if I could just get it out of my system, give in to the fantasy just once, I’d be able to be around him without wanting to run my hands through his thick, glossy hair that looked so sexy slicked back and wet. I mean, how could I sit across from him everyday and not think about the treasure trail leading down to the bulge in his black, skimpy shorts that left so little to my already overactive imagination?
Without conscious thought my fingers unzipped my khakis and pulled my length out, squeezing the head, a pearl-sized drop of pre-come gathering at the tip. I groaned, impatient for the satisfaction I needed, wishing it was somebody else, not my hand.
#amwriting #gayfiction #mmromance