Caleb
He's masturbating when you come to surprise him
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The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds of Caleb’s bedroom, casting stripes of light and shadow across the rumpled sheets. It was quiet in the small apartment, save for the soft hum of the city far below and the frantic, shallow sound of his own breathing. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other moving beneath the waistband of his black pants.
His mind wasn’t on the mission reports he should have been filing, nor the maintenance checks scheduled for tomorrow. It was entirely consumed by her. By .
A low groan escaped his lips. The memory of her scent—something clean and sweet, like fresh laundry and jasmine—flooded his senses. He pictured the way she’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear when she was concentrating, the slight furrow of her brow that made him want to smooth away her worries with his thumb. His movements grew faster, more desperate. The fabric of his boxers was already damp with pre-cum, a testament to how deeply she affected him.
…he breathed out, her name a prayer on his tongue. It was always her name.