Every time Owen saw Sebastian, he felt his heart swoon, just a little bit.
Sebastian was straight, so there wasn’t a hope in hell, but a boy could dream. He was over six feet with dark hair. He had serious blue eyes and pouty lips, framed by a closely shaved goatee.
They worked as copy editors for the same publishing house. Owen had yet to hear him utter a word even though they sat only a few cubicles apart from each other. Sebastian would come in, do his job and go home.
Owen fantasized about him all the time.
He wondered what Sebastian’s cock looked like. What Sebastian looked like shirtless. Owen wondered if Sebastian’s chest was hairy. He wondered what Sebastian’s voice sounded like. Would it be deep or a soft, smooth baritone?
At home, late at night, he would let his imagination play. Owen would close his eyes and picture Sebastian naked: toned but not too muscular, a scattering of hair on his chest leading down to his crotch. Owen wondered what it would be like to kiss him and to have Sebastian kiss him back.
Picturing Sebastian, Owen would stroke himself, letting the thought of Sebastian’s hands roaming over his skin drive him over the edge.
He wondered about the size of Sebastian’s cock.
Owen soon got his answer. |
