Chapter 6 Chet #2
“Having trouble?” Mark called out from somewhere just beyond my reach.
I closed my eyes and let my brain process the sound, zeroing in. “Not even a little,” I fired back, already moving.
I knew Mark. We’d gone head to head on the court since we were kids, and even though this definitely wasn’t a basketball court, patterns were patterns.
Mark would try to double back and flank me.
So I darted left, then right, nearly eating shit on a loose gravestone.
Dodging a skeleton that dropped from the ceiling, I cut another left around a corner and glimpsed chestnut hair lit up by a strobe before Mark strafed sideways and disappeared.
Fuck yes. I chased after him, grinning like a maniac.
He stayed just out of reach. For every move I made, he had two, just like back in our basketball days, and now I was too horny to think.
My toga rode up, and every time the bastard laughed, I got closer to snapping.
It felt like he was everywhere, all around me, lurking in sightlines I couldn’t hold.
I slowed to a prowl and wiped sweat off my upper lip. “You like making me chase you.” I meant it as a question, but it came out as an accusation because I already knew it was true.
Mark’s voice slid from the darkness, just out of reach. “Like it better when you catch me.” There was a devilish smile in those words, a dare layered under the cockiness that spiked straight to my core.
I broke right, then feinted left, and the fucker finally miscalculated.
Mark tried to dart away at the same time I slammed a palm against his shoulder and whipped him around hard.
He grunted as my weight threw him into one of the mirrored glass panels, instinctively putting up his hands for leverage and trying to shove me off of him.
Grabbing his hips, I muscled him backwards again until he was the one gasping, my cock full and aching as I rolled my hips against him.
Mark’s lips crashed into mine, the aggression in his kiss something I could taste as my tongue swept his mouth.
Like blood, like metal, like ash. I kept him pinned, one hand fisting his tunic, the other at his shoulder.
He fought back with tongue and teeth, hands scrambling for a grip and landing somewhere on my shoulder before digging in.
I bit his lip, devouring him and making him gasp, chased his tongue and sucked it until sparks popped behind my eyes.
Mark’s breathing went ragged, chest heaving underneath faux leather.
Tension shuddered out of him, and I decided I was going to pull that tunic up and fuck him right where we stood.
As I went for more, the nimble bastard twisted, slipping through my hands and disappearing through a gap in the black plastic sheeting. I narrowed my eyes and fought my way through it, tailing him.
I hoofed it through a fake graveyard and had just swung a hard left when I caught a blur of motion from the corner of my eye. Too late.
Mark hit me from behind, arms coming around me and locking over my chest. In front of me, a massive mannequin in a butcher’s apron hulked over a steel table covered in fake blood.
“Payback time, Pynch.” Against my back, I felt every inch of Mark’s erection, hard and hungry between my cheeks while his breath dragged hot and filthy across my ear. “I’m tempted to bend you over that table, spread you open, and fuck you into oblivion,” he growled.
“Think you got me, huh?” I wanted it so badly my head spun. My cock throbbed with the same need, wet and aching, and I couldn’t help the moan that escaped me as my hips arched back into him. I lost myself in the edge of his teeth at my throat.
“You tell me.” Mark yanked my arms behind my back demonstratively, pinning my wrists with one hand and sliding the other down the front of my toga.
Palming my cock, he squeezed it firmly before shoving his hand inside the waistband of my briefs.
Pleasure exploded through me at the first touch to my bare shaft, and I jerked against him as he swiped his thumb over my slit.
“You’re so fucked,” he hissed in my ear.
His fist was too tight around me, and it was definitely on purpose. “You wanna beg yet?
“Not a chance,” I stuttered, pushing harder into his grip. Even if it felt like a vice, I’d take it however he wanted to deliver it, if only he’d start fucking moving and quit taunting me.
Finally, he did. Two strong passes that provided just enough friction to make my head loll back. He kept at it, slow and then fast, keeping me guessing. I bucked into his hand, chasing every stroke.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, Mark rutting against my ass and me nearly losing my shit with every thrust.
But no matter how much I wanted to just give in and give myself over to him, to let him fuck me right there, I wasn’t gonna make it that easy for him. The bastard had left me high and dry less than five minutes ago, after all.
Time for a little payback. “I think you forgot how this was supposed to go.” I threw an elbow into his gut, the way I used to when we scrapped for a rebound, and used the split-second reprieve to duck out of his grip, pivot out of his reach, and jet forward.
“Fuck!”
I tossed a glance over my shoulder and grinned as Mark stumbled and then caught himself on the edge of the butcher’s table.
Payback delivered. Now to see if he could do any better.