Chapter 42 Contracts #2
I grunt. “The one where Shelby Cox gave you a blow job in the kitchen?”
“Not where I was going with this, but fair enough. The one where Kailin was coked to the gills and kept trying to convince you to let her peg you in front of her boyfriend so he’d stop being scared of it.”
“I remember,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
“And you finally shut her up by telling her you were a strict top and had no interest in taking her silicone cock up the ass.”
“You asked me in the car on the way home if it was true.” When I cut my gaze sideways, I catch him sucking on his lower lip, and a rush of blood thickens my cock against my thigh. “I told you I’d never done it either way, so how was I supposed to know?”
“Yep. Boner city. Rachael was in the back seat with us, and I thought for sure she was gonna bust me.”
For a long minute, I keep my eyes glued to the road. When I finally speak, my voice is husky with years of repressed longing and lust.
“We were sixteen at that party, Quill.”
“Don’t.” Pulling his leg up onto the seat, he shifts to fully face me.
“Don’t think about it as lost time. I wasn’t ready for you back then.
I wasn’t ready for this, no matter what my dick was trying to tell me.
And it wasn’t about my sexuality—it was all the rest of me.
If we’d tried to be a couple back then, I would have fucked everything up even worse than I did, and we wouldn’t be here now.
I wouldn’t be here, ready to be good for you.
No regrets, Rocket. Only firsts and forevers. ”
A narrow dirt road splits off from the two-lane highway to meander through an overgrown field, and I slow down to make the turn.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Finding a place to pull over.”
He slouches back against the door and runs his tongue over his lower lip, flashing the barbell with hooded eyes. “Right now?”
“Yes, Quill. Right fucking now.”
Outside the windows, acres of dry hills devoid of human habitation fill the landscape.
I maneuver the truck around potholes until the highway disappears behind us, and I pull off the road into the shade of a small copse of trees.
Far off to the left, a cluster of low, metal-sided buildings marks what I think is a recycling center, but when I climb out of the driver’s seat, the only sound is the whirring of crickets in the tall grass.
“Are we fucking or fighting?” he quips, rounding the bumper to meet me.
“Fucking.” There are way too many goddamn buttons on this shirt.
“Because you made my dick hard at sixteen?”
“Because you’re right about all of it.”
“Okay.” His eyes flash before he pulls the hoodie off over his head, revealing nothing but his inked torso underneath. “Who’s gonna top?”
“You are.”
He crowds me against the door, tossing the hoodie on the roof of the truck behind me and sliding his other hand up my chest to circle my throat.
My breath catches as my Adam’s apple bobs under his palm, and I swear to god, he fucking glows—a luminescent aura of confidence that pours off him in tendrils to lick over my skin, leaving sweat and fire in their wake.
“Tell me why,” he says.
“Because I’ve never seen you like this before—sure of yourself and…”
“Acting like a grown-up?”
“Hopeful. I want it inside me. I want you to drive it beneath my skin so that I carry it around for the rest of the day. The rest of our lives.”
“Fuck, that’s hot.” His fingers twitch against my galloping pulse, and my mouth forms the shape of a plea. Before I can give it voice, he pops the button on my jeans and shoves his hand in to cup my cock. “Please tell me you still have lube in the glove box.”
“Shit,” I groan, thrusting into his grip. “I had your sister as my copilot for the last few jumps, and I cleaned it out. Everything’s in the ticket wagon back at the lot.”
“Jesus, Rocket. Jeans? Boots? Buttons?” He flicks the open collar of my shirt and gives my dick a punishing squeeze. “No fucking lube? It’s like you didn’t plan ahead at all. Notice how I dressed appropriately for a reunion fuck?”
I glance down at the erection straining the front of his sweats and lick my lips at the wet spot blooming on the gray cotton. “What part of I need you inside me right now do you not understand?” I ask. “Make it hurt. I don’t care.”
“Josha…” When his hand in my pants goes still, I grip his wrist and grind against it.
“I want you raw, Quill. You gonna make me beg on my birthday?”
His other hand tightens on my throat, and he slams me against the truck. “I’m not going to hurt you, no matter how you beg. I’ve done enough of that.”
“Then make it good.” Leaning into his grip, I put my lips to his ear. “I trust you.”
His chin jerks up and his pupils blow to stormy seas, and then he crashes his mouth to mine. I plunge my hands into his hair and my tongue between his lips, feeding him the feral flavor of my hunger until he moans and his hand resumes stroking my cock.
When he’s stoked my blood to beyond boiling, he pulls away, stripping my shirt from my shoulders. I pull my arms free and let the fabric drop, but when I start to turn around, he stops me, sinking to his knees in the dirt instead.
“No.” I shake my head and try to drag him up. “That’s not—”
“You’re not in charge here, birthday boy,” he says, tugging my jeans down over my hips. “You say you trust me? Then stop talking and let me make it good.”
My head falls back against the roof, and I watch through slitted eyes as he angles my cock toward his kiss-stung lips. He runs the flat of his tongue over the head, then flicks my slit with his piercing until I’m soaked with precum.
When my knees threaten to buckle, he takes me in his mouth and rolls my foreskin back with his tongue to suckle on my crown.
Wan sunlight glints in his curls as I drag my nails over his scalp, and approval rumbles from his chest, making my cock swell enough to choke off the sound.
Unable to resist, I fuck into his tight throat—once, twice, three times—until he gags and saliva drips down my sac.
I start to pull back, but he hooks his fingers into my front pockets and tugs me deeper into his mouth. Ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks, he sucks air through his nose and swallows around my head.
“Holymotherfuckingfuuuuck, I’ve missed that mouth of yours,” I gasp, breaking his no-talking rule as I battle the urge to come right then.
He pulls off to offer me a smirk as he gathers the slick mix of spit and precum coating my length, then drags two fingers over my sac to circle my hole.
I spread my thighs as wide as possible in the confines of my jeans, giving him better access, and prop one arm along the roof of the truck.
When he nudges at my entrance, I bear down, impatient to have him inside me.
It’s always a shock when he slips past the first ring of muscle—the welcome invasion somehow still laced with illicit thrill after all this time. He pumps in and out of my ass a few times while his tongue circles my head, then withdraws his fingers to swipe more saliva from the base of my dick.
The messy blow job continues as he works me open, humming his approval over my skin as I stretch and yield to his coaxing digits. Stuttering, disjointed praise tumbles from my lips as I melt to pure sensation, hips rocking instinctively to chase the pleasure offered from both sides.
As the third finger breaches me, the Doppler hum of an approaching engine breaks the solitude.
“Shit.” Craning my neck, I spot a distant plume of dust. “Someone’s coming,” I warn, detangling my hand from his hair to scrabble for my pants.
Without relieving the suction on my cock—or the exploration of my ass—Gem swats my hand away, then reaches up to flip the handle of the driver’s door at my side.
He swings it open, and I brace my arm along the frame, holding the makeshift shield in place and shaking my head in disbelief. “They’re still gonna see us.”
His eyes are alive with mischief, brazen and unashamed, and if he could do it with a mouth full of cock, he’d be grinning at me. It’s wild and reckless and so innately Gem that my panic and arousal morph into something bright and nostalgic that tastes like pride.
This has always been the way of us—dangerous and beautiful and bigger than all our attempts to hide from ourselves.
The thrum of tires grows louder, mingling with the rush of adrenaline in my ears, and the man I love is on his knees, brimming with conviction so contagious that I stop caring about the passengers in the oncoming car. This moment is only ours.
I’m not ready to come—I could cling to this precipice forever—but he sucks hard on the head of my cock and shuttles his slippery hand over my length, and as the dusty sedan roars past, he pegs my prostate, and my orgasm races up my spine.
Cum pulses from my slit in a never-ending stream, coating his tongue, and I sag in the open doorway as the dust settles.
Without giving me a chance to recover, he pulls his fingers free and spins me by my hips.
I barely catch myself with one hand on the wheel and the other on the seat, falling half into the cab as he spreads my cheeks and uses his thumbs to pry open my hole.
Then he brings his lips to my entrance and feeds the cum directly into my ass.
It’s the filthiest, most erotic thing I could have imagined, and my spent dick lurches as the last of my breath leaves me in a shocked moan.
“Thanks for the lube, baby,” he says, standing to wrap a hand around my neck.
“Now give me a little more.” And he shoves three fingers into my gasping mouth, raking them over my tongue.
Sucking the heady taste of myself from his skin, I draw frantic breaths through my nose as small, eager sounds vibrate from the back of my throat.
“Keep whimpering like that,” he growls along my jaw.
“It makes me so fucking hard for you. I’m about to give you the fuck of your life. ”