Page 67 of Broken Bonds

Yep.

I’m not even in there thirty seconds before I’m naked, standing in my shower, and fisting my cock so I can frantically pound out the first of at least two orgasms I know I’ll have before dinner.

It’s soooo easy, so tempting to spin out countless fantasies of Todd bending me over anywhere he wants and rutting with me. Meaning it’s maybe only a dozen strokes before I’m painting the shower wall with my cum, and I’m shaky, breathing hard. I grab the lube this time, brace my free arm against the wall, rest my forehead on it, close my eyes while the water beats down on me, and squeeze my cock.

Yeah, I’m already chubbing again.

I take more time with this one, savoring it, slowly stroking up my shaft and twisting around the head and back again.

I bet he’s huge.

If I don’t get myself fucked real soon, I’ll need to make a run somewhere close for dildos and a butt plug because fucking my own hand would not be satisfying for very long.

It’s the third orgasm I stroke out that finally allows me to once again think reasonably clearly. The water’s almost cold so I quickly finish scrubbing and rinse off.

Because I don’t have a huge wardrobe, I opt for jeans and a button-up bowling-type shirt that was one of the few things I brought with me from Atlanta.

It’s got dinosaurs on it, and I think it’s downright hysterical. They’re wearing little Hawaiian shirts and doing things like surfing, drinking from coconut-shaped cups, and other activities. I can buy T-shirts or work shirts any-damned-where, but let me have my dinos, for fuck’s sake.

I head over and Todd’s already in the kitchen, shirtless and barefoot but wearing jeans, with his back to the door.

“Hello?” I call out.

“Come on—” He turns, his jaw dropping as he processes what I’m wearing.

Then comes the laughter, braying out of him, and he sets down the plate of steaks he’d been seasoning.

“That … that shirt … that’s fucking AMAZING!”

I allow myself to relax and smile. “Yeah, I’m kind of fond of it.” I couldn’t wear it at home around my father—or my brothers—because they would have metaphorically eviscerated me for daring to wear something fun. Mom bought it for me, because we were in the shop and I saw it, and when we got home, there it was with the rest of the things.

God, that memory makes me miss Mom.

Todd walks over and circles me, looking at the design. “That’s the best shirt I think I’ve ever seen. Where’d you get it?”

“A shop in Atlanta,” I say. “But I think they can be ordered online.”

“Well, remind me after dinner to go looking for that, because I want one.”

Yes, my cock is already chubbing again, happy? “Sure.”

He goes out to light the grill while I start helping prep things like a salad and veggies he plans to roast along with the meat. I know it’s stupid to let my imagination spin up little scenarios, like me walking around here naked and taking care of him, but I can’t help it.

Except I do want to support myself. I never again want to be completely dependent upon someone else to take care of me. In fantasies, it’s fun to dream of being a happy little house hubby omega, taking care of my pups and my mate.

Then reality slaps me across the face and reminds me my father is a fucking vengeful asshole, and who in their goddamned right mind would ever want to be mates with someone like me?

Fuck-buddies will likely be my only relationship statuses for the foreseeable future.

Realistically, I cannot in good conscience spend the rest of my life living in Todd’s apartment. This is finally my chance to make my own way and live life on my terms.

To have a place to call my very own, and that I’m responsible for. Where I can totally be me.

That belongs to me.

I hope returning to work as a plumber becomes my future once I go through initiation. I don’t mind that—plumbers make decent money. I trained for it, I’m good at it, and I don’t mind 90% of the work involved.

We grab beers and move everything out onto the screened porch so Todd can supervise the grill while we chat.