My strokes are frenzied and rough, like the orgasm I’m pulling from my body is a punishment instead of pleasure. Sweat lines my brows as my head rests against the hard wood. The longer I jack myself, my legs tremble, and no matter how hard I try, Ash’s face, his body, his piercings, his fucking balls, won’t leave my mind. It’s a slideshow behind my closed eyelids of the twin I shouldn’t be thinking about.
