him as he thrust the screen at me.
At some point he’d navigated over to my OnlyFans page. I stared down at the display and had to fight to keep my jaw from gaping.
I’d posted the first video we’d shot in his bedroom before AM practice and had then gone about business as usual. I typically checked at the end of the day to see how things were doing. It wasn’t even noon and there were a hundred comments on the video and…“$185 in tips?” I balked as Jesse grinned.
“Read some of the comments.”
I was still bowled over by the $185 in tips. At max, I’d gotten $50 once when I slid the tip of my pinky in my hole. I clicked down through the comments.
Somebody got a camera guy!!!! Loving it.
Hottest one yet. Keep ’em coming. Can’t get enough.
You have the sexiest cock I’ve ever seen.
Blew my load before you did. Nice.
I laughed at that one.
Whoever’s holding the camera was clearly enjoying it, too. Extra hot.
I glanced up at Jesse, and he buffed his nails conspicuously against his collar with a smug smile. I wondered if he’d read that last comment.
“You know what this means?”
“What?”
He had a little dimple on his left cheek with a freckle on the border that kept snagging my gaze. “It’s time to step up your jerk game even more,” he said, lowering his voice ominously.
“I’ve noticed that despite initial protests, you seem to be settling comfortably into this role,” I pointed out.
Jesse wiggled his shoulders in a preening fashion and blew me a kiss as his gaze strayed to my crotch. “I love a project, baby, and this is definitely a project.”
“Are we talking about videos or my dick?” I teased.
“Does it matter?”
We both cracked up, then stood and tossed our trash into a nearby bin. I nudged Jesse’s shoulder with my upper arm as we ambled lazily down the sidewalk. “So since I did yoga with you this time, does that mean you’ll be running sprints with me next time?”
“No, no, Jake. That’s not how this is going to work,” Jesse reprimanded me, but as we turned into the parking lot and headed for his car, he exhaled noisily. “Okay, fine. I might be persuaded to attempt some sprint training in the interest of not being left behind if we ever find ourselves in a situation where we have to run.”
“I’ll go easy on you the first time, I promise.”
Jesse folded his arms over the top of his car and stared across at me, lips pursing before he shook his head. “Nope, not gonna. I’ll be a good boy.”
And though I knew he was teasing, the innuendo hung there between us, searing through my gut and speeding up my pulse when I realized exactly how curious I’d become about him.
11
Jesse
Sam had a death grip on one of the shelves of the bookcase he stood in front of as he worked himself. Judging by the way he’d clamped down on his lower lip, he was close, and fighting it, too, trying to make his expression appear as normal as possible.
He kept glancing over at me as if to make sure I was holding up my end of the bargain as both lookout and camera operator.
I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging nod and tried to keep my expression blank, doing what I hoped was a believable couple-of-guys-browsing-the-anthropology-section-of-the-campus-bookstore look. It wasn’t easy, but I was starting to get used to the perennial blue balls these sessions brought on.
Yanking the bill on my ball cap lower, I sent my gaze over the students milling nearby. Tactically speaking, we were sitting pretty. Sam and I had both scouted this location multiple times at different times of the day all the previous week, figured out where the cameras were and the best place to position ourselves.
“Slow down,” I told him, keeping my voice low. “We’ve got time. We’re good. I promise.”
Sam nodded and squeezed the head of his dick, letting out a quiet sound that wrecked me, a muted whimpery moan that would inevitably replay in my head when I jerked off later, despite my best efforts.
I thought I knew edging? I’d been naive. Filming Sam was the biggest edge of my life, a guaranteed twenty to thirty minutes during which my cock swelled and throbbed in my pants and every subtle shift and movement became torturous pleasure I couldn’t capitalize on. Sam would shoot me imploring glances on occasion, like he wanted to make sure I