#mini chapter!

Otto's imprint on your life is unshakeable. The thought of him alone is enough to make your heart beat a little faster and your skin feel prickly with heat. It's embarrassing, really. At the end of the day you hardly know him; and to top it off he's one of the most wanted criminals in the city. He has baggage you don't want to dive into- at least, you're pretty sure you don't. You have enough on your plate, you don't need to add "fixing a broken man" to the mix. And yet… 

You can't get him off of your mind. Before you know it, your hand is slipping beneath the waistband of your pants and then further, into your underwear. It's so easy to imagine him touching you. This is a new low, you have to admit; you hope it doesn't evolve into a habit. Some part of you feels ashamed, guilty, a bit like you're about to get caught with your hand in the metaphorical cookie jar (haha…), but you decide the reservations aren't enough of a deterrent.

You've already seen him mostly shirtless, it's easy enough to undress him in your mind's eye from the waist up; you're already wet, you discover very quickly. Slowly, you draw your finger through the slippery mess to slick them up before pressing lightly to your clit. No doubt he would sneer and scoff at the idea of you touching yourself to the thought of him, but in your daydream he's running his hands up your naked thighs and lavishing your mouth with hot, eager kisses. You wonder if he's as lonely as you are, as you think about running your hands down his broad chest.

You part your legs a little farther to give yourself more room as you work your clit faster, breath hitching now. Dream-Otto can't get enough of you. He's unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. You wonder what his cock looks like, if it's as thick and delicious as you imagine. He certainly acts like it. You decide that he can get away with being a pretentious asshole if that's the case. Would he take his time with you? Or is he as impatient in bed as he is in all other things? So many ways you want to know him, all of the pieces that fit together to make this mysterious man that you can help but be drawn to. You want to take him apart, layer by layer, until he's laid bare before you. 

In your fantasy you settle upon his hips like they are a throne, feeling him inside you and in a desperate attempt at emulation, you press a couple of fingers into your wet core, but it's futile- not enough. You want it badly, more so with every aching moment. Your fevered mind wonders if he would come back if you called him. If he would use your body the way you wish he might. You return your attention to your throbbing clit, gasping at the sheer sensitivity of it. It's been a long time since you've been this eager. 

It doesn't take very long, within a few moments you cum with Otto's name on your lips and the fading thought of him filling you up with his release imprinted in your brain. You can see it when you screw your eyes shut, seared into your skull, unable to shake the sensation that you're left with as you come down from your shaky high. Would he be a good bed partner in the afterglow? Holding you close and kissing the top of your head? Or would he be up immediately, getting dressed without a word before he disappears into the night? 

You catch your breath. Your foggy mind is starting to clear. It was just a quick stress reliever. Nothing more. There's nothing else going on. People think about weird things when they masturbate, right? Right? Fuck.