Chapter 8 Chet
CHET
Only one person on earth could make me come undone like this, and it was the man in front of me. My Achilles and eternal Achilles heel. He would always be my weakness as much as he’d be my strength.
I thrust into Mark over and over, riding a self-imposed line of torture and pleasure, orgasm and denial, need and desire that burned through me. Two sides of the same coin. Knowing I was giving him as much as I was taking, knowing he’d do the same for me.
He needed this release the same way I did.
We had plenty of lazy days lolling in bed making love.
I didn’t know if it was the atmosphere, the earlier events with his dad, or some combination, but tonight we both just wanted to get fucked.
So I was going to make damn sure I upheld my end of the bargain.
I bit Mark’s jaw, then his throat, just to hear his breath catch. He was panting, his pulse a drumline under my tongue. For a guy who liked pretending he wasn’t the prey, his body sure was giving him away.
Nails digging trenches into the skin at his hips, I slammed back in.
Mark braced one arm against the cinderblocks, cheek still mashed against the wall.
Veins popped in his neck, like every inch of him was straining for me, hungry for whatever I dished out.
The sight of him like that struck me as so fucking profane my balls tightened up.
He canted his head a little, looking back at me over his shoulder. Chestnut curls were plastered to his temple with sweat, and his eyes were dark and feral. A livid red scrape bloomed over his eyebrow from when I had pinned him the first time.
He flashed me a dazed smirk, and I spiraled.
“Fuck,” I gasped. My voice was as shredded as my restraint. Sweat dripped off my forehead and landed on Mark’s bare back, sliding down the cleft of his ass. His spine jerked with every snap of my hips.
My balls slapped against him, and fake blood spattered his ass and the concrete below, dark as black cherries in the dim alcove and all the more arousing for it, like visceral evidence of how mercilessly we were taking each other apart.
I was losing it, felt the edge racing toward me at white-hot speed to torch me and turn my insides to dust. My hips stuttered, and my thrusts grew rougher. I bit down on the corner of Mark’s lip hard enough to taste copper and then emptied myself into him in a flood of euphoria.
It was raw and ugly.
It was real.
I sucked at his lower lip again, then pulled off, breathless, and drove my cock into him one last time, a claiming thrust as a final punctuation mark that I wasn’t done with him. Ever.
Mark gave me barely a second’s reprieve. The minute my cock stopped twitching inside him, he wrenched free of me and shoved me to my knees. I hardly felt the concrete beneath them. I gazed up at him, lips parted, then slowly opening. I knew what was coming, and I wanted it.
Mark’s fingers tangled through my hair, yanking my open mouth to his cock. I groaned around the flushed head as he pushed into me. It was hard and fast, and my eyes immediately started watering as I tried to keep up.
I choked a little and instead of pulling back, Mark drove deeper, reveling in the noise. The taste of him coated my tongue. I lost myself in the rhythm, embracing the sensation of being used for his pleasure the same way I’d just used him.
“Fuck yes. Swallow it.” His teeth flashed in a garishly streaked mouth as he bucked deep enough to make me gag again.
A tremor traveled all the way up my throat and tightened around him.
In seconds his muscles locked up, and he unleashed with a shudder, cock buried in my throat and my nose mashed against his stomach.
He flooded me until there was nowhere for it to go, and I swallowed reflexively at the same time I sputtered.
Spit and cum slid down my chin and onto my hand where it fisted the base of him. I kept swallowing, throat spasming around him and wringing him dry.
When he was done, Mark rubbed his spent cock against my tongue, savoring the aftershocks. Then, he finally let go of my hair.
I eased back, mouth drenched and tender, and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. He sank to the floor beside me.
We caught our breath in that fucked-up version of a comedown, serenaded by screams, chainsaws, and some dude who passed by yelling, “riotous!” over and over. I was pretty sure it was Max Tanner, one of Mark’s fraternity brothers that I shared a class with. Not my favorite guy, but whatever.
Mark cocked his head at the sound and then peered sidelong at me. “Fucking Max,” he said with a roll of his eyes, confirming, and we both cracked up.
I checked the status of my limbs, wiggling my toes and fingers to make sure they were still attached to my body, then attempted to haul up my briefs. I slowed, catching Mark’s stricken expression.
“What?” I asked, concern freezing me up. For a split second, I worried I’d hurt him. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever fucked him so hard before.
“It looks like a fucking crime scene in here.”
I blinked free of my post-orgasmic fugue and looked around.
Fake blood streaked Mark’s arms, chest, and quads.
It was on the wall and on my hands, covering my thighs and my toes.
Messy as shit, red and slick. “We look like a crime scene. Like Ed Gein celebrating a successful grave run or something.”
“We look like we need an exorcism.”
“Or a funeral.”
“We look like the Carrie shower scene.”
“Fuck, that’s so wrong.” Mark laughed and smeared a hand down his face, trying to hide a sleepy grin, but only succeeding in streaking more blood across his cheek. “God, imagine if my dad had seen this on camera.”
We both cracked up again, even though a little knot formed in my stomach at the recollection of that incident months ago. We’d come a long way since then. Tonight was proof of that. “He’d try to have us committed or something.”
“For sure.” Mark nodded, then glanced around again. “Shit, what do we do?”
“Um.” I made a quick assessment, which was basically just another survey of the fake-blood-drenched alcove, but enough to determine my answer.
“I have no fucking clue.” There was nothing remotely close to a towel back here.
Not even a scrap of goddamn fabric, much less a paper towel—unless you counted our clothing, and it was already pretty much ruined.
“You’re the smart one here.”
“Debatable at the moment.” It felt like the two remaining brain cells left after I’d blown my load had congratulated themselves for surviving and then decided to take a nap.
Mark sucked his lower lip between his teeth, thinking, then popped up with more energy than I could dream of mustering. “I’ve got it. Stay right here.”
Before I could ask him what his grand plan was, he slipped between the plastic sheeting and was gone.
I tried to put myself back together in the meantime.
My toga was a fucking disaster, completely covered in red splotches and even a handprint rather inconveniently placed over my crotch.
I turned the whole thing inside out and refastened it, which was a little better.
Mark returned… with a mummy. It was about half his size, but as he started unraveling gauze from what I guessed were its feet, I got it, and arched a brow, impressed. “Props for resourcefulness.”
He grinned, pleased, and we both tore off strips of gauze and swabbed ourselves. It helped. Not as much as if we had a bottle of water, too, but we didn’t and I wasn’t about to attempt a spit bath. Getting skull-fucked less than five minutes ago kinda put that particular fluid in short supply, too.
Eventually, we were more presentable.
“What should we do with…” I gestured at the bloody gauze and Mark shrugged.
“Rewrap the thing and put it back?”
We both burst out laughing. “That’s so fucked.”
But it was also exactly what we did. Waste not, want not.
Just before we exited the maze, I pulled Mark in close, fingers twining with his. “Would you go see my dad with me again, and this time come inside with me?”
His lips parted soundlessly. I’d caught him off guard. The corners of his eyes got soft, and then he nodded. “Ab-so-fucking-lutely. Any time you want.”
I smiled. “Okay. Good.”
We exited the maze and headed back to the party. I slung an arm around Mark. “I have no idea how the fuck we’re going to explain ourselves. Maybe say we got in a fistfight again.” I winked sidelong at him.
“They’d probably believe it.” He grinned. “Thank you, though. However we explain it, or don’t. That was… hot? Fucked up? A lot of things. But also exactly what I needed.”
I chuckled. “Nothing says true love like getting fucked with fake blood at a frat house Halloween party.” But I kissed him then, because I knew exactly how he felt. “Did I—? Was I too rough?”
Mark shook his head. “It was perfect. Was I?”
“No. Same. It was perfect. You think the Sigmas would allow alumni to come back and visit their haunted maze next year?”
“Not if they figure out that mummy is now wrapped in cum rags.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Seems kind of on brand for y’all, really.”
He swatted me, but his hand lingered, warm and solid against my back. And also probably marking it with the fake blood still staining his fingertips. I didn’t mind. It felt good to wear the mess we’d made.