Page 32 of Show Me 1

Sam had a death grip on one of the shelves of the bookcase he stood in front of as he worked himself. Judging by the way he’d clamped down on his lower lip, he was close, and fighting it, too, trying to make his expression appear as normal as possible.

He kept glancing over at me as if to make sure I was holding up my end of the bargain as both lookout and camera operator.

I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging nod and tried to keep my expression blank, doing what I hoped was a believable couple-of-guys-browsing-the-anthropology-section-of-the-campus-bookstore look. It wasn’t easy, but I was starting to get used to the perennial blue balls these sessions brought on.

Yanking the bill on my ball cap lower, I sent my gaze over the students milling nearby. Tactically speaking, we were sitting pretty. Sam and I had both scouted this location multiple times at different times of the day all the previous week, figured out where the cameras were and the best place to position ourselves.

“Slow down,” I told him, keeping my voice low. “We’ve got time. We’re good. I promise.”

Sam nodded and squeezed the head of his dick, letting out a quiet sound that wrecked me, a muted whimpery moan that would inevitably replay in my head when I jerked off later, despite my best efforts.

I thought I knew edging? I’d been naive. Filming Sam was the biggest edge of my life, a guaranteed twenty to thirty minutes during which my cock swelled and throbbed in my pants and every subtle shift and movement became torturous pleasure I couldn’t capitalize on. Sam would shoot me imploring glances on occasion, like he wanted to make sure I thought what he was doing was hot, and it only ratcheted my pulse that much higher. I’d thought he was cute before. Now I found him off-the-charts sexy.

I kept my voice quiet as I adjusted the camera. “Good. So fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” I nodded. “Do that thing.” He shot me a questioning look, and I glanced around before leaning closer. “The thing where you twist over your head and stroke your balls.”

He did the thing—my favorite thing—which made his eyelashes flutter with ecstasy, and I fought to keep from drooling. “That one?”

“That’s it.” God help me, I should get some sort of pervert’s medal of honor for not busting in my pants. Sam, bless his clever heart, had on a pair of shorts he’d cut the bottom half of the pockets out of, so he could fish his johnson out with ease whenever he needed to. They were a pair I’d seen on him many times before, and knowing what I knew now was the ripe cherry on top of my blue ball sundae.

His dick was leaking all over the place, and his strokes took on a frenetic edge, telling me he was close to shattering. Fuck me, I knew his jerk habits as well as I knew my own now.

Two rows to the left, a guy and a girl browsed the bookshelves together. A few rows to the right, several other people strolled the aisles slowly. We were near the rear of the shop, with Sam angled toward the back wall. The front of the aisle was partially obscured by an endcap display with a bunch of Silver Ridge U stuffed rhinos. I stepped in closer as the guy and the girl moved.

“What now? Tell me what to do.”

My nuts almost exploded with joy at the lusty timbre of his voice. It took a few seconds for my brain to reach them with the memo that directive had—sadly—not been for their benefit. They were so persistently optimistic in that regard. Sam had started doing this with increasing frequency lately, though, asking for direction. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was so keyed up and turned on that he forgot all but the basics, or because he wanted to make sure he wasn’t repetitive in his videos or something.

But telling Sam what to do? It wasn’t exactly a hardship. “Slow down a little.”

Sam’s gaze flicked toward me, his eyes tight with need as he complied, murmuring a soft, needy curse when he did that almost wrecked me.Good goddamn.

I’d resolutely avoided watching his videos aside from when we were checking them before uploading them, but right now I would’ve killed to have clicked on his page and gotten to see this as a first-time observer on a bigger screen than the one I was currently positioning over his crotch. The noise of the bookstore around us, his thick cock protruding from a nest of pastel plaid fabric.

“Good. So good,” I encouraged. “Keep doing it just like that. Nice and easy so when you come, it gushes down your knuckles.Perfect.”

“Oh fuck. Ohshit,”Sam whispered, tightening his hand around his shaft. “Ready?”

“Fuck yeah, go for it.” I made sure the camera was trained for the money shot and checked on the two dudes who had started down the aisle perpendicular to ours. “You’re perfect.”

“I like when you talk to me.” His strained voice tapered off into a moan.

Wait. What?I wasn’t sure what kind of face I made for that revelation, but it didn’t stop the gush of cream from his slit.

And fuck, there was a lot of it.

Sam’s head drooped, and a tremor of pleasure ran through his shoulders. His breath puffed out of his flared nostrils in sexy little bursts of sound. He made a cap of his palm, keeping his release from spraying the bookshelves. Instead, it streamed down the sides of his shaft, and he rubbed it in as he chased his orgasm to its finish. Just in time, too, because the pair of guys I’d been watching swung around into our aisle.

I stuffed the camera in my pocket and hooked an elbow through Sam’s.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Incoming. Walk slowly and get that kielbasa back in your pants.”

“I’m drenched.”