Austin wakes with a raging hard-on. He is so hard it's painful and he feels like every ounce of energy he has is captured in his hard full angry length. It's not uncommon for him to wake up like this and usually, he would roll the side and easily fix his problem with thoughts of Cleo while his hand glides over his penis and the scar adds extra friction. But, he can't do that right now because Cleo is plastered to his side causing the baby hairs on his neck to toss a little every time she breaths out in her sleep. If she wakes up and finds him like this he will scare the shit out of her, he is scaring the shit out of himself. But, fuck, it was bound to happen - he has been tethering on the edge since the very first kiss and it does not help that even as she sleeps she pouts her lips and presses them to his skin.
He had a rough night.
He has to do something, this will not go down on its own. So he pushes her away and rolls her gently onto her side, stopping for a second to make sure he has not woken her. When he is satisfied he gets out of bed and waddles very painfully to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Peeling off his sleep shorts reveals the source of his problem and it's worse than he thought. The tip of his penis is practically purple and it's spitting mad. Fuck. He needs to get rid of this or it will fucking kill him. He climbs into the shower, placing one hand on the wall above his head and then curling his fingers around his angry enemy - hissing when he makes contact. His mind, as always, wanders straight to Cleo. Her subtle breasts and nipples stand in stiff little peeks when he runs his tongue over them. Her soft skin that feels like velvet under his palms. Her ass. Fuck, her ass. He groans as the scar on his palm catches the tip of his penis almost making his knees buckle. Fuck. He starts pulling on himself harder, desperate for release.
Her thighs and the two dimples on the small of her back that he would dip his thumbs into when he bent her over, her perfect vagina with satin folds that felt like silk when he slid inside her. The way her tight entrance would squeeze him and strain as it stretched around him while she wriggled and whined under him.
Fuck.
He has to bite his thumb as he explodes, shooting thin white ribbons onto the shower wall. He tried to keep quiet but his grunt is echoing around the bathroom while his chest heaves. His legs feel weak so he slumps to the floor and rests his burning back to the cool tiles. Fuck. How is he still hard? He looks down at himself and sees the purple has gone red, but he is still hard and still angry. What the hell? Looking at the mess he made on the wall he can see he shot his entire load. But, his body is ready to go again. Maybe it's knowing she was naked in this shower last night or that he had felt her nipples harden and press against his skin last night while she slept.
They never had the strength to stop from pouncing on each other often - they had been ridiculous but Cleo had put it down to age and being in the 'honeymoon' stage although they had never slowed down throughout the year. She had said once that it would calm down once they had a few years behind them, but Austin can testify that after eleven years - his body's reaction to just the thought of her had not changed and on some level had grown more intense. He stands and flicks on the shower, turning the water to freezing, deathly cold, in an attempt to numb his body. Slowly the icy water starts to work and so he waits with his lips turning blue and his body shivering until his penis all but dies.
He climbs out and dries, rubbing his frozen skin with the towel in an attempt to warm up a little then pulls his sleep short back on and opens the bathroom door. The bed is now empty and Cleo is nowhere in the room. Fuck, he hopes she did not hear him or maybe she did and she has run off in fear. Shit. He puts a hoodie on and pads down the passage popping his head into the kitchen gingerly and then letting out a soft sigh of relief. She is sitting in the patio doorway with a cup of coffee and her lamas like she does every morning. "Morning," he croaks out, not meaning to sound like a man who just blew his load onto the shower wall, but he does, so he sucks his lips in as he heads to the coffee pot. "Morning," she says and the playful tone in her voice has him flicking his eyes to her. She is grinning at him. She knows exactly what happened and she thinks it's funny. It's not - he is a man under a great deal of strain. A man on death's door.
