PUT ME IN A MOVIE - Charlie Barber.

Chapter 12 - Love.

Charlie was leaned up against his shower wall, water streaming down his head full of wet inky hair, droplets curling around his jaw as steam filled his small bathroom, along with the sound of skin slapping.

His large bare body was cramped into his small shower, his frame all too big for his laughably small tub. His lips were pressed into a thin line, desperately trying to swallow back his groans and grunts as his big hand stroked himself, mind running rampant with the thought of you.

   All he could think about was you, and how he had ran into you at that café the day before. That moment had taken him completely off-guard. It even had him acting weird for the rest of the day. Everything you said to him replayed in his mind like a broken record.

   "T-That will be fifteen dollars."

   Your voice was so soft and misspoken. The way you had stuttered and your cheek had grew red made his cock practically jump in his pants at the time. And the way your eyes roamed across him, it had him feral.

Charlie throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as his grip tightens around his length. He sucks in a sharp breath, Adam's apple taught against his throat as he swallows hard. He groans your name under his breath.

   He could feel something building in his stomach, his muscles tightening, face pinching. He planted his legs strong as his fist stroked and stroke, his hair pulsating cock heavy in his hand.

   His mind was flashing and spitting images of you— naked on his bed, writhing under him, you dressed in his big shirts, the sound of you calling him daddy. He barely hand a grip on himself at the thought of you.

   With some heavy heaving and quiet cursing, he could feel himself teetering near the edge, almost reaching his peak. His blood ran lava-hot, the blood rushing in his ears. He could feel himself practically coming undone.

All it took was imagining you naked to make him tug at his cock, cumming with a long groan. He imagined you splayed out across his bed, calling him that one name that always drove him into a frenzy – "daddy".

He bucked his hips up into his tightly closed fist, hips rutting as he rode out his high. Your name was being muttered under his breath, over and over again. He thought how much of a waste it was – his seed being washed away lamely instead of having you there to lick it up, or take it all.

And as he dropped his grip from his now softening-cock, finishing up the rest of his shower before work, he silently promised himself he would buy coffee for the theatre again – because he needed an excuse to see you again.

  
   Meanwhile, at the small café you worked at, your mind ran just as rampant with the thought of Charlie. You kept replaying that moment over and over again from the day before — his large frame standing stoic as ever at the counter, eyes burning into yours.

   You'd admit, you were embarrassed by the whole thing. Not only were you hungover and not looking the best, you also stuttered like a child, making a fool of yourself. And at the end of it all, you only managed to tell him the price of his fucking coffee.

And today was no better. Your shoulders were heavy with exhaustion as you made coffee after coffee, customers of all shapes and sizes coming and going. Everything felt like a fast blur as you tried to make it through the day.

When it was finally time for your break, you tugged your apron off and threw it onto the counter, trudging outside and leaning against the exposed brick of the small café. You tug a dented box of cigarettes out from your sweater pocket, plucking one between your lips.