Page 62 of Playing the Backbeat

“Dee?” I call out.

No answer.

“Dee?” I yell a little louder.

Everything comes to a screeching halt. Because then I hear something. Something unmistakable.

A buzzing sound from the other side of my door.

“Oh fuck,” Dee moans. My pants are down around my ankles, and I’m gripping my dick like the lifeline it is two seconds later.

“Goddamn,” I groan. “What the fuck are we doing, Dee?” I turn to face the door, one hand against the frame, the other fisting my dick so hard I’m pretty sure it’s going to turn purple.

“Your way versus mine. Let’s see what works faster. You in?” The challenge in her voice makes me even harder.

“Don’t underestimate me,” I pant, tugging on my cock roughly. Holy shit.Why is this the hottest moment of my life?

“Not possible,” she says, voice breathy, and I hear the vibration kick on louder. Holy fuck, she’s turning up her vibrator, talking to me, masturbating on the other side of my bedroom door. I stroke my dick, and her every gasp, every moan, nearly sends me over the edge.

She might be trying to get off, but I’m trying to make this last for the rest of my fucking life.

A minute goes by. Vibrations, moans, and groans fill the space between us. Then I hear a groan of frustration from Dee. “Not as reliable as you thought?” I ask, breathless, my mind racing with images of Dee, spread out on her couch, hands between her legs, working her clit with whatever lucky toy she happened to grab in anger.

“Shut up,” she shouts. “I just need a second.” Another sigh of irritation, before I hear the buzzing come to an abrupt stop.

“Come on, Deanna. I thought the old-fashioned way was overrated.”

“Ugh. Fuck it,” I hear her mumbling to herself, then a satisfied. “Oh fuck. Yes,” she hisses.

Jesus Christ. How am I going to ever look at her again after this?

“Should we stop?” I ask, panicking about tomorrow. The next day. The day after that.

“Do you want to?” she asks, moaning again, lower and longer.

“God, no,” I groan, barely holding on.

She gasps. “Neither do I.” My mind runs through about a thousand different lewd thoughts, not sure what would make her gasp like that. I’m dying to find out.

“Are you wet? Are your fingers soaked with want?” I ask, desire drenching every word.

“So fucking wet.” Dee moans, and I grip my dick harder.

I want to see her. I want to watch every second of her stroking her clit, sliding her fingers deep, taking exactly what she wants.

I listen, barely hanging on, seconds away from falling over the edge myself. My dick pulses in my hand, my chest heaves with every breath, and I close my eyes—the image of Dee, head tossed back, nipples hard and waiting for me, thighs spread wide…

“It’s so good,” she breathes. “I’m so close. How hard are you?”

Harder than I’ve ever been in my goddamn life.

“Fuck, baby. I’m going to come,” I say, voice pained with restraint. The pet name slipping out.

“I’m coming,” she screams, and I can hear the absolutely huge smile on her face. “I win, Dylan.”

The sound of my name on her lips as she comes does it, and before I can think clearly, I stretch my shirt down to cover myself, catching the mess I make as I come.

Pleasure, hot burning heat, shoots up my thighs, to my balls, my back, my dick. I lean a shoulder against the door to steady myself, knees weak and shaking from the force of my orgasm.