She nods, her eyes flashing one last spark of heat my way before she turns and scurries from the room. The door mostly shuts behind her, and I groan, the air whooshing out of my lips and my muscles clenching as my hand drops to the throbbing bulge in my sweats. I growl, my hand wrapping around my fat cock through the material and giving myself a stroke as my mind replays the sight of her bare, pink pussy on fucking repeat.
My pulse surges, and I grunt as I shove my sweats and boxers down until my cock springs free to slap against my abs. My hand wraps around the pulsing shaft, and I hiss in pleasure as I let my mind go to all of the places I’ve been telling it not to go all night where Brynn Henley is concerned. I imagine her dancing on that stage. I remember her grinding her panty-covered little pussy on my lap, her tits in my face and the need to have her roaring in my ears. I remember the glimpse of her in the bathroom earlier, and then just now—the image of her absolutely gorgeous little cunt on display for me.
I freeze, my eyes squeezing shut as one last burst of morality grips me.
Stop this. You need to stop this.
I start to let my hand drop, but instant, I cave, and it goes right back to stroking my throbbing cock. Because I can’t stop this. Not when it’s her in my head. Not with the way she’s somehow drawing me into her like a moth to flame. How she’s captivating me in ways no woman has for a very long time.
Not with how much I fucking want her.
And so, I stroke. And I keep on stroking, images of Brynn bouncing on my cock melting through my thoughts as my pulse races and my balls swell with cum.