I’ve never witnessed Elliott fly into action with quite such force and it was hot. He’s been all over the news and because this is unconnected to our work, once again hits me that I’m sharing my life with a superstar. I’d gotten used to us not being able to go anywhere without being recognized and to the close protection who keep their respectful distance. But, I’ve not yet seen him splattered across the papers for no other reason than intentional positive PR.

I’m watching the breakfast news while I eat my porridge. He scrubs up well. Really fucking well. I remind myself that I sleep with that man every night. As he talks, he brushes a blond curl from his face and the camera catches the flex of the muscles in his forearm.

I can’t help myself. My work pants grow a little tighter below where my cereal rests. Elliott continues to talk about the virtues of selecting respectable builders. I’ve heard it a million times before over the last few weeks, so rather than listening to the points he’s making, I place my bowl on the floor and use my palm to add relief to my crotch.

The pressure does nothing to ease my desire; he talks so fluently as the lights of the studio catch the striking blue of his eyes. The passion I experience with him in the bedroom transcends to his arguments about building confederations.

“It’s not that these organizations don’t exist,” a tinny version of his voice stresses.

I tune it out, continue to watch the way he moves, the curve of his mouth as he smiles at the interviewer, the white of his perfect teeth.

This is no good. I drag my zipper down and un-peel my cock from its pressured housing. An instant relief washes over me, but it’s not sufficiently gratifying.

Elliott continues to talk, “It’s just that people aren’t aware of how they can use them to make sure their work is of a safe standard.”

With the best will in the world, it’s not the most interesting of interviews, and yet he still drives me insane. I wrap my fingers around my length and focus my attention on his mouth. I gasp as I imagine that mouth encasing where my digits are sliding up and down. My mind transports me to the warmth in which my cock is encased. His lips continue to work on the TV, but by now I have no clue what he’s really saying. Instead, I hear him tell me how much he wants me.

I envision his reaction when I tell him later that he had me jacking off to him, that I wanted him in this moment as I sit on our sofa watching him speak about the importance of confederations. The strength in his arm as he drapes it over the edge of the sofa is clear, the tone of his forearm flexes under the lights as he gesticulates at the interviewer sending shivers of delight down my spine as I remember what those arms are capable of. I will be telling him how his effect on me transported over the airwaves to connect us despite being miles apart and I will love watching how my words then turn him molten.

My vision floats, a haziness blurring his form on the screen. I snap my head, refocus on him, and watch every detail of how he moves. He’s smiling, but it’s not the smoky smile I enjoy, nor is it his practiced TV interview smile. He’s being humble, allowing the public to take a glimpse of the person I share my life with. He speaks and then he glances away, eyes focused on the floor as a memory floats through his consciousness. It’s endearing and the lust I’ve been feeling spins out of control as I pile on top a healthy layer of adoration.

The speed of my hand is uncontrollable as the insatiable craving I have for this man once again takes hold. My crotch burns with friction and the intensity of my passions as my balls shrink and “Ugh, ohhh... ohhh.”

I holler at the top of my lungs as I combust just as Elliott announces to the world, “Yes, we are now living together.”