Image

Clearly, there is something very wrong with me. My lack of sleep made it so that I lacked focus. Which is good, because smut doesn’t requite THAT much thought for me. I think I ultimately wrote about 1000 words of it — and I think there’s at least another 2k left to write of it. Hopefully tomorrow I can knock it out of the park. 🙂

Without further ado, Savin’s perverted mind in all its perverted glory:

“You’re already thinking about our shoot today, aren’t you?” Mitchel asks, lightly dragging his fingers along the inside of my thigh as I drive.

I smile sheepishly at him. “And if I am?”

“Save some of that enthusiasm for later, Savin,” he murmurs. He looks right at me, as if he were trying to read what the hell’s going on inside my head. Worst part is? The bastard’s usually fucking right. I both love and hate that about him. And I especially hate that his insanely perfect fingers are now teasing me through my jeans. It makes it all the more difficult to focus on driving. “You know how I like to play with you myself after we’re done filming…”

“Speaking of filming — are you sure you don’t wanna put this kid in a skirt?” I ask, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. I have to keep my eyes from drifting closed as he continues to rub his hand against me. Fucking Christ, we’re gonna have to stop before we even pick this kid up, aren’t we?

“Why a skirt?” Mitchel counters, his hand finally moving away from my lap. It’s all I can do to not groan in disappointment when he does.

“Have you seen this kid’s legs?” He totally can’t be serious right now — Mitchel picked this kid because he knows how much he fits my type. “They’re made for showing off — also, if we put him in a skirt I can fuck him while he’s still wearing it.”

Mitchel seems impressed with this idea. After all, the kid’s his type, too. How the fuck we ended up together, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because the bastard has this way of pushing my buttons — and now I’m pushing his by making him think of me pounding into that blond kid with everything I got.

“Pull over.”

Mitchel’s words are an order I simply can’t ignore. I find the nearest parking lot and shut off the engine just as Mitchel’s climbing over the middle console to straddle my lap, grinding against me. “You really want to fuck this kid, don’t you?” he breathes against my neck.

Advertisements