Chapter 24 #2
Running a hand down my shaft, I try to relieve some of the pressure. As I take a deep breath, I will my cock to deflate and step into the shower.
I get through washing my hair and lathering myself with body wash, and then there’s an impatient banging on the bathroom door.
I shake my head, once again wishing I had enough money to afford a dorm like everyone else—unfortunately, I’m stuck living under the same roof I’ve been under my whole life.
“Vincent!” My father’s voice radiates through the wooden door, making me sigh. I finish rinsing all the soap from my body, turn off the water, and step out.
Once I’ve wrapped a towel around my waist, I pull the door open to find my dad leaning against the doorframe, bottle in hand. “What?”
“Where have you been?” he slurs, attempting to stand up straight.
I run a hand through my dripping hair and sigh. “I was at practice.”
“Don’t give me attitude, you little fuck. I’ll lay you out right here,” he sneers, stepping toward me, the bottle in one hand and a fist made in the other.
I take a step back on instinct, like I’m still a scared, ten-year-old boy who can’t defend himself. Trying to keep my voice even, I swallow. “I’m sorry, Dad. Did you need something?”
“I’ll tell you what I fucking need, Vincent.” Slurring the last part, he takes another step. “I need you to stop being a disrespectful shit, that’s what I fucking need.”
I nod, pressing my lips together as I fold myself inward a little. “I know, Dad.”
He scoffs, his voice slurring as he spits his next words. “You’re pathetic. A disgusting, pathetic fucking loser.”
I take the words like bullets. They penetrate through my surface and wound me, even though I’ve heard them a million times. Part of me still just wants to be good enough for my father, whereas the other part knows I’ve done nothing to deserve being his punching bag.
“Why don’t we get you into bed, huh, Dad?” I suggest softly, stepping forward and reaching out for him, attempting to guide him back to the hallway. He swings like it’s a reflex, his fist slamming against the base of my jaw and making my head fly back.
I wince, and he swings again, slamming loose and heavy knuckles against my eye socket. Everything vibrates around me as blackness takes over my vision and I fall to the floor.
He kicks me once in the ribs, throwing the beer bottle down at me. “Disgusting fucking shit.”
I blink through the pain, both in my ribs and my face, and watch sideways as he curls his lip at me one last time before he turns around, heading back through the door and down the hallway again on swaying legs.
He mutters the entire time he walks through the house, and I listen as he pulls the fridge open to grab another beer, then he continues talking shit as he goes for his bedroom. I don’t dare move until I hear his door slam shut.
Standing, I poke my head out into the hallway just in case, then I sprint for my room. Locking the door behind me, I shoot Beckham a text telling him I’m coming over, then I get dressed.
Once I’ve thrown on a black hoodie and sweatpants, as well as a backpack of stuff for tomorrow, I slip my phone into my pocket and pull my bedroom door open. The TV is still blaring from when my father was occupying the living room, but I ignore it and slide past to go out the front door.
The walk to the dorms at the university is about ten minutes, and since the sun has set, the chill of the coming winter seeps through my clothing and dances over my skin.
I savor it, though, loving the kiss of the cold against my body.
Some people thrive in the sunshine, the heat of the sun on their skin, but I’ve always loved a cold, dark night.
It grounds me, makes me feel like I’m still alive.
Maybe that’s the Hallows Boy inside of me, but I’d take a dark, chilly night over a bright, warm day every single time.
The moon is hanging full over the cloudless sky, and even when I pull my hood up over my wet hair, the breeze still sends shudders deep into my bones.
Becks is outside when I’m finally walking up the sidewalk to the large building that holds the dorms, his chest and feet bare, and a pair of black sweats hanging low on his hips.
He’s leaning against the wall, the cigarette between his lips lighting up his face.
When he sees me, he slips it between his fingers and smirks.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask as I near him, then pull the cigarette from his fingers to take a drag.
“I’m cold-blooded,” he answers, scanning me with his eyes as I blow out smoke. “Are you okay?”
I take another hit from the cigarette, letting the question linger as I inhale and then blow the smoke out above my head. “I’m fine.”
He holds his hand out for the cigarette, so I slide it between his fingers again, just as he points it at me. “You have a black eye.”
“It matches the bruise you have on your jaw.”
He chuckles, taking another hit from the cigarette. “What happened?”
I stare at his gorgeous face, feeling at home. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He takes the last hit off his cigarette, then tosses it into the dirt. “C’mon.”
I follow him into the building, through the lobby and up the stairs to the third floor.
He leads me down the hall, then pushes into his dorm room.
He has a single, so there are no roommates or anyone else to bother us, which is helpful for nights like these.
The small space isn’t decorated, the light-colored walls somehow feeling darker since he keeps the overhead light off all the time.
Books are piled on the desk in the corner, and his clothes are scattered around the ground outside the closet doors.
Beckham falls onto his bed, holding an arm out for me. “Come here.”
I slip off my shoes, then crawl onto the bed and rest my head on his arm. We lie together in silence for a while, and I find myself trying to match his breathing, like he’s calming my racing heart without even trying to. Once my rushing blood has slowed back to a normal rate, I look up at him.
His eyes find mine. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
I shake my head. “I want to talk about Sage.”
I turn onto my side, and he follows my movement so we’re facing each other on the bed. Face to face, chest to chest, hips to hips. I run a hand down his arm, and his mouth drops open a little as he reads what I’m saying with my eyes. “You want to know about…?”
I nod, my gaze dropping to his red mouth. “Tell me.”
“Vin,” he groans, shifting on the bed like he can’t help but adjust himself. “It wasn’t anything fucking special.”
“Tell me, Beckham,” I breathe, looking into his deep-blue eyes.
“She was asking questions about her dad.” His eyes are wild when he finally looks at me. “I tricked her into it. I couldn’t help it, Vin… I needed her.”
I stare at him, wordless, waiting for him to continue.
He licks his lips. “I took her to the back of the library.” I flex my hips, pressing my thickening cock into his hip, making him suck in a breath. “I pulled her little shorts down to her knees, ripped her tights, and bent her over a bookshelf.”
“Show me,” I groan, making his eyebrows lift in surprise. Sliding my hand into the front of his sweats, I wrap my fingers around his cock roughly. “Show me, Becks.”
He hesitates for a breath but then rolls on top of me and presses his lips to mine. Flexing his hips, he pushes his cock farther into my fist, then lifts off of me to stand up. I follow him, swinging my legs off the side of the bed to face him.
“You’re sure?” he asks, the careful bastard.
“I need this.” Groaning, I grab the front of his sweats with both hands and pull them down to free his dick. I lick my lips. “Tell me what you did to Sage while you fuck me.”
At that, he grabs the bottom of my hoodie and rips it over my head before he kisses me again, his lips mad and messy against mine.
He kisses me like he’s desperate, like he can’t help but nip and bite at my lips and tongue while he does.
I groan when his hands find the band of my sweatpants, and he pulls them down hard and quick before he drops to his knees before me.
Looking up at me, he circles my cock with his hand as he flicks his tongue against the head. I flex my hips on instinct, and when he suctions around me, I chuckle a little. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t do this with Sage.”
He sucks me deep into his throat, then pops off. “You know I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”
I burn with pleasure, every inch of my body turning molten.
Beckham stands again, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me up with him.
Turning me around, he presses one hand to my back and the other to my head, pushing me down until I’m bent over the edge of the bed.
Leaning over me, he kisses down my spine until he reaches my ass.
Using his hands, he spreads my cheeks, then slides his tongue between them.
When he circles the puckered hole there, I groan loudly and arch into him.
He pulls back, leaving me panting on the bed while he digs around in his bedside table for something.
When he steps behind me again, I hear the click of a bottle opening before he pours liquid into his hands.
He presses a slippery finger against my asshole, testing me, and when I don’t run away, he pushes through the ring of muscle.
I groan, and he stills. “You okay?”
I moan loud, pressing my ass back into his hand so his finger goes a little deeper. “Beckham, stop fucking asking me if I’m okay.”
He slides his finger all the way inside me until I feel his knuckle. “Okay, then.”
I try to spread my legs farther apart, but my sweatpants hold me confined. “Get my pants off my ankles.”
He pulls his finger back a little, then plunges back inside, making heat spread through my body. “You said you wanted me to show you what I did to Sage, so your pants will stay on your legs to hold you in place.”