Chapter 7 Eden #3
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Charlie utters, curling his hands around the lip of the desk and leaning against it. “I fucking love your makeup and your skirt and your hair and your face.”
Pleasure wars with revulsion, each emotion battling to take over and making Eden’s insides churn. Pretty boy. Look at you. Aren’t you an angel? Oh he’s so beautiful. He’s so pretty. Are you sure he’s a boy? What a pretty boy you are.
Revulsion wins, and it’s all Eden can do not to shove Charlie away and take off running. He’s just horny enough to convince his brain to stop being a fucking asshole and let him get some dick for once.
“You’re so bea—”
“That’s enough, Casanova,” Eden interrupts firmly.
It makes no sense to want Charlie to like what he sees but also want to punch him for saying all of that.
Eden’s brain can just fuck right off. “I’m going to suck your cock now, and you’re going to shut the fuck up.
You can moan and groan all you want, but I don’t want to hear anything about me, got it? ”
“I can’t say you’re beautiful?” Charlie frowns, looking like someone kicked his puppy. Ugh. What kind of nice asshole is this guy?
“No,” Eden snaps, refusing to look at Charlie’s face. “If you can talk at all, then I’m not doing a good enough job. I want you moaning like the slut you are, Charlie. Now grab a condom and hurry up.”
Charlie curses under his breath while rolling the condom over his dick.
The second he’s finished Eden needs to swallow Charlie’s cock as far as he can, the fat crown bumping against the back of his throat.
He digs his fingers into Charlie’s hips, cataloging the way his tan skin pales under the pressure.
He doesn’t let his hands linger long, smoothing them down Charlie’s hips so he can scratch his blunt nails over the dark fuzz on Charlie’s upper thighs.
Judging by the sounds Charlie makes, he clearly enjoys what Eden is doing.
The confirmation emboldens Eden, who takes Charlie so deep his nose butts up against Charlie’s belly, and his dick breaches his throat.
He had a gag reflex once, but that is long gone.
While he’s never felt more than a perfunctory relief at this fact, right now it turns him on further having Charlie come apart under him.
“Holy shit,” Charlie moans. “Your mouth is—”
He doesn’t finish that thought because Eden decides to bob his head so Charlie is fucking his throat, taking him all the way down while his hands travel between the spread of Charlie’s legs to stroke his thighs and balls.
Greedily, Eden sucks him, high on the endorphins that come with blowing someone.
Even before, when Eden was at someone else’s mercy, having to obey, oblige, and perform, he knew when he had someone’s dick in his mouth, making them fall apart, that he was the one who held the power.
It might’ve been fleeting and only an illusion, but he lived for the moment he could make another man come, knowing he did that.
It’s been so long since he did this, he almost forgot how good it is.
Charlie is blabbering now, hands clenching and unclenching on the edge of the desk like it's taking all his self-control not to touch. Eden wants to reward his restraint, so he hollows his cheeks to suck hard and deep while bringing his fingers to Charlie’s crease.
“I’m going to come,” he warns, moving his hand to the base of his dick to keep the condom in place. Using his hand to finish him off, Eden watches Charlie's face and tracks the moment he reaches orgasm, loves seeing Charlie’s facade completely fall apart as he whines through his release.
If Charlie’s laugh is undignified, the sound he makes just before he comes is worse, a kind of guffaw with his face screwed.
And yet, there’s something handsome about Charlie when he comes, even with his loud as shit moaning and his scrunched up orgasm face. It’s a different expression than the ones he wore at the gallery or even Juanita’s, and Eden almost likes it.
While Charlie pants and whimpers, Eden wipes the drool off his mouth, smearing it over one of his favorite tattoos—a random one that came out of a gumball machine during a flash sale of an ugly as shit dinosaur wearing a tutu. Eden loves it.
“Fuck,” Charlie groans, pulling the condom off and tying it before tossing it to the floor, presumably to deal with later.
Eden drags his eyes up Charlie’s body, taking in the sight of him flushed and satiated, his softened cock hanging between his legs and his chest heaving.
There are red splotches on his cheeks and a sheen of sweat across his chest, even though Eden did all the work.
His eyes are shut, mouth parted. He looks so relaxed that something tiny twists itself around Eden’s heart, making it feel something he does not want.
No. He will not feel emotions, especially not about this man in front of him—a self-proclaimed slut.
He’s going to walk away the second this is done, which is what Eden wants.
He does not want to think that Charlie looks nice after he comes, that the blissed out look on his face fills Eden with pride. Fucking fuck that.
Horse laugh. Ugly orgasm face. Sweaty.
Maybe if Eden finds enough faults he can trick his brain into not being so goddamn attracted to Charlie.
“Your stamina could use some work,” Eden announces.
One eye cracks open, followed by the other. He waits for Charlie to be offended and kick him out before he’s had a chance to bury himself in that firm ass, but all Charlie does is laugh, the absolute fucking weirdo.
“You know, you’re kind of a shit.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Eden mumbles.
“That was one of the best orgasms of my life.”
“Of course it was,” Eden says, ignoring the flare of pleasure those words invoke in him. What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s given so many blow jobs he lost count. He knows he’s good at it. He doesn’t need some handsome man to tell him.
“So humble,” Charlie snorts.
This is better. There’s that undignified horse sound again.
There’s a feeling in Eden’s chest he doesn’t like, and he needs to drown it out, so he leans forward, biting Charlie’s hip. Charlie yelps, then moans when Eden draws his tongue over the mark.
“Little shit.” Charlie groans, the sound deep and needy when Eden smooths his fingers around to Charlie’s ass. “I just came.”
“Can you only come once?” Eden asks, batting his eyelashes at Charlie. “You are old.”
“Old,” Charlie gapes. “I’m only thirty-two.”
“Old man,” Eden repeats, that part of his brain desperate for attention is looking for it any way he can have it.
“I’m not much older than you,” Charlie grunts, eyes half-lidded and cock already responding to the way Eden’s finger teases over his hole. Once he adds lube, Charlie’s going to be so easy for him.
“How old do you think I am?” Eden asks, realizing for the first time that Charlie must think he’s older.
It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.
When he was living on the streets, men used to love his features, because he looked older than he was, so they could pretend they weren’t fucking predators.
He had something angelic about him—their words, not Eden’s—that let them indulge in their fantasies.
He likes the idea that Charlie thinks he’s older, and doesn't have some weird kink for underage femboys.
If he did, Eden would bite him again, and not in the fun way.
“Like twenty-six,” Charlie offers, grunting when Eden’s thumb nearly breeches his hole. “Maybe twenty-seven.”
Eden hums, rising up to reach for the lube. He uncaps it, warming a generous amount between his fingers. Charlie’s already relaxed, he doesn’t need this amount, but Eden wants to make a mess of him.
Charlie is like a toy, and Eden wants to play.
“Not exactly,” Eden answers evasively. He crawls between the spread of Charlie’s legs, loving that while he’s still the one on his knees, Charlie is the one at his mercy.
He looks so good like this, all his bare skin exposed.
His cock is half-hard, and whether that’s normal or because of Eden, he isn’t going to ask.
He’s going to pretend it’s because of him, that for once in his life there’s something special about him.
“You ready?” Eden asks, giving Charlie’s thigh a firm squeeze.
“Yeah, but—”
“Unless that ‘but’ is you revoking your consent, you should shut up.” Eden plunges one finger into Charlie’s ass, delighted in how easily it goes in. He really is a slut.
“Fuck,” Charlie groans, leaning back against the work table and spreading his legs even wider. The position can’t be comfortable, and looks ridiculous, but it affords him a face full of dick and Charlie’s ass right where he wants it.
“You love this.” It’s not a question, but the moan Charlie gives him when he adds a second finger answers anyway. He takes Eden in so readily, the tightness of his body welcoming Eden in a way he’s never been welcome anywhere before.
“Please,” Charlie begs, like he’s been edged for hours and not two fucking minutes.
“Such a whore for me,” Eden murmurs, nipping at the inside of his thigh. His own cock is rock hard and leaking, but he feels no rush, only the intense satisfaction that comes with finally—fucking finally—being allowed to have what he wants.
The men who bought Eden never asked what he liked because it didn’t matter.
He was a plaything for them. Any questions they did ask were part of a game, and Eden knew how to fill the role they wanted him to play.
Since then, his sexual escapades have been perfunctory at best. Whether it was unfortunate circumstances or people’s stupid fucking preconceived notions, the men who wanted Eden never let him have what he wanted.