Keeping 13: Boys of Tommen #2

I was a saint.

No joke.

I was fairly sure I deserved a medal for the self-restraint I displayed in Claire’s bedroom earlier. I doubted there was another lad my age with feelings for a girl like the ones I had for Shannon – for a girl who looked like Shannon – that could have stopped that from progressing.

Hours later and I was still coming to terms with the best and worst thing I had ever done. Because I wanted inside that girl more than my next breath and having her dangle her virginity in front of my nose like a fucking Grand Slam medal was the worst kind of temptation. But I did the right thing, dammit. I stopped it. I put what she needed before what I wanted, and that knowledge put me somewhat at peace. So afterwards, when I had smoothed things over and we went downstairs, I drank hot chocolate with her friend, I made the small talk, I provided the reassurance I knew she needed from me, and I reined in Gibsie as best as I could, and I did all this with the worst case of blue balls known to man.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

When Sinead Biggs came in from work a little after nine and gave me and Gibs our marching orders, I could have wept with joy. As messed up as it sounded, I was relieved the woman had showed up and kicked us out, because I needed a timeout.

I needed to go home, and fast, because I couldn’t take it anymore.

It had been over five fucking months, and pain or not, I was going to come.

Even if it killed me, dammit.

I could hardly speak a word the entire drive back to my house. The anticipation was killing me and I was racked with nerves. Fear, excitement, and lust were the dominant emotions rushing through my body, driven forward by the memory of Shannon on her back, with me between her legs.

Thankfully, Gibsie was brooding silently in the driver’s seat and didn’t turn off the engine when he pulled up outside my house. Instead, he offered a half-hearted, ‘I’ll pick you up in the morning, lad,’ before returning to staring out the windscreen.

I had no clue what was wrong with him – I presumed he was sulking over being thrown out by Claire’s mother – but right now I couldn’t worry about it because I was going to fuck myself, dammit, and his problems weren’t my top priority.

When I stepped inside my house, I had a feeling Jesus Christ himself was looking down on me because my mother was on a work call, barking orders into a headset while she paced the kitchen floor with a folder in her hand. I swear to God, I could have dropped to my knees and broke out in prayer at the sight. When she tried to make eye contact with me, I quickly hurried upstairs, using the crutch more for her sake than mine.

Temporarily evicting Sookie from my room, I swung the door shut and started ripping off my clothes. Why I felt the need to strip down bollocks naked, I would never understand, but I was burning the hell up and needed the reprieve.

Feeling a fucked-up concoction of excitement and fear rush through my body, I sat, still as a statue on the edge of my bed, and stared down at my fully erect dick.

Here it goes…

With my entire body coiled tight with tension, I dropped a hand and held my breath, waiting for the pain I was so damn used to feeling – the one I associated with my dick.

One stroke…

Two strokes…

Three tentative strokes…

When the pain didn’t come, I released the breath I’d been holding in, flopped onto my back, and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Thank you, Jesus.’

Closing my eyes, I drummed up every depraved image I had of Shannon and went to town on myself.