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Sep. 20th, 2014 03:31 pmThis isn’t something I’m working on; it’s a bit of Holmes’ POV somewhere in the middle of Let Me.
I did everything I could think of to stop needing him. I clutched a pillow, leaned against it, warmed it with my own body heat. I stroked my own hair, caressed my own face and shoulders. I tried, with all the force of my considerable imagination, to conjure up his presence, his warmth, his scent, the sound of his voice or simply his quiet breathing.
When I could, when my mind was not tearing itself apart and I could focus on baser desires, I pretended that my own rough fingers were shorter and thicker as they stroked my prick, and that my quick breathing was echoed by his. Even this did not work, and too often left me cursing, half frustrated and half bored with all physical concerns. It was not mere orgasm he gave me, much as we both pretended otherwise.
I did everything I could think of to stop needing him. I clutched a pillow, leaned against it, warmed it with my own body heat. I stroked my own hair, caressed my own face and shoulders. I tried, with all the force of my considerable imagination, to conjure up his presence, his warmth, his scent, the sound of his voice or simply his quiet breathing.
When I could, when my mind was not tearing itself apart and I could focus on baser desires, I pretended that my own rough fingers were shorter and thicker as they stroked my prick, and that my quick breathing was echoed by his. Even this did not work, and too often left me cursing, half frustrated and half bored with all physical concerns. It was not mere orgasm he gave me, much as we both pretended otherwise.