The next day, I again woke up next to Ted. My prick had apparently shifted the sheets and the blanket and was already awake before we were. My bedmate rolled over and crashed into it. “That looks painful,” he commented. “Fucker’s hard as steel.” Which he knew because his hand, much to my delight, was gripping it.
“Fucker’s got a mind of its own these days,” I replied, eyelids fluttering as his hand deftly moved up and down on it. “Any kind of stimulation seems to set it off. Anger, hunger, joy…”
“Horniness.”
I grinned and leaned over for a good morning kiss. “Especially that,” I agreed, dreamily.
Ted flung the remainder of the sheets off the bed. Lacoste. High thread count. Nice.
“Well, at least it has a friend to play with.” I took hold of said friend and rolled over. He did the same
