Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

Trouble. She’s so much fucking trouble. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m pulling out my throbbing cock and tugging on it. Just a second to ease the pressure that built while I watched her strip and writhe, her heavy tits bouncing while she rode Cade.

The memory of her licking him sends a zap of electricity down my spine. How he talked her through it? Fuck. My cock bobs as I kick off my pants. I yank my shirt over my head and lean into the shower to start the water, then quickly fist myself again. My hand is no comparison to what her warm pussy must have felt like to him. Or her mouth.

Those swollen lips were like a beacon, luring me closer. And the way mascara streaked her cheeks after she took him all the way back in her throat? The way she gagged on his cock?

I’m a sick bastard for watching. For enjoying it so fucking much. The sight of him thrusting up into her, his muscles straining as he reached around and fondled her nipples and her clit. Pinching and prodding until she exploded. I wished I could hear the words he was muttering in her ear. The rasp in his tone. The sound he made when he came.

The mere idea of it has my cock swelling. It only takes one more tug before I explode, coating the shower wall. Panting, I fall against it, and as my heart rate slows, shame swamps me. I just jacked off to the vision of my best friend fucking the girl I want to fuck.

What is wrong with me?

And how the hell am I going to face them in the morning?