Chapter 6 Cade #2
That earns me a longer eye roll, one where his eyes stick to the ceiling for at least thirty seconds.
“I won’t be finding out anything.”
He feeds me more soup, and I eat it, swallowing as much as he can give me. And when the bowl is empty, he sets it down on the table and scrambles off my lap.
Then he’s at the stove, eating straight from the pot. I can see the strain in his shoulders and pants. He hasn’t forgotten my offer.
But it’s a logical one. It makes sense. He’s fed and cared for me. Watched me get off. Only makes sense to offer a nice reciprocal thank-you.
And I always reciprocate.
Ansel finishes off his food and rubs his stomach, turning to peek over at me. He looks like he’s coming unraveled.
I like that very much. I’d love seeing him unravel in my arms and around my cock.
“Seriously, stop staring at me,” he murmurs.
I don’t look away, just wet my lips and stay silent. Come and play, butterfly.
“Stop it. I mean it.”
When I don’t do as he asks, he stomps over and grabs something from his bag, and then ties it around my eyes.
A blindfold.
Just when I thought he couldn’t get more perfect. It only makes me more excited. I love this shit. Nothing better than taking away one sense to make the others stronger.
I can hear him breathing next to me, can almost hear his heart racing. He shifts slightly, his shoes scraping across the ground, and I sense his gaze on my cock.
It jumps at the sensation of being watched.
And then he speaks, his voice tentative. “I’m really not letting you suck my dick.”
I say nothing, just let my lips part slightly. Let him imagine putting his cock right between them.
“Even with what happened last night…we can’t do this. I mean, it’s been a while, and I am stressed, but it doesn’t mean I’m that desperate.”
“It’s okay to be desperate,” I say. “I’m desperate for it. There’s no shame in that.”
“You’re not ashamed of much.”
“You’re right. I’m not. Life’s much better when you do what you want without letting pesky things like shame get in the way.”
He hesitates, and then I hear him walk away, the door to the bathroom shutting. I hear the shower turn on, and I wait with bated breath until he returns. I regret that I can’t see him walking out in a towel, but then again, this is even better. Almost.
It’s the excitement that makes my heart race, my pulse thumping in my neck, my cock twitching between my legs.
When the water turns off and the door opens, I stare at the blackness, wishing I could see him.
But instead, I can smell him. Clean, like soap. Citrus. Like a gin and tonic. I could get drunk on him. Just pour me a triple.
I hear his soft footsteps move up to the bed, and I turn my head, trying to see him once more. But he tied it too tightly. It’s staying on. It’s just darkness before me.
“The shower didn’t help me relax.”
“That’s because you need more than a shower.”
He huffs, and then I feel the brush of his finger against my lips.
“I’m not attracted to you,” he lies. I can smell the scent of his need rolling off him. “But you’re right. Maybe a blow job will help me calm down. You know, just so I make it through this with a clear head.”
I bob my head and part my lips for him. He should definitely do this. For stress relief and for the relief of my dick.
I just want a taste of him. Just a lick.
“I can’t believe I’m even considering this. I’m losing my fucking mind. If they knew what I’m about to do...”
“Who?” I ask.
“No one.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the bed shifts and I feel him straddle me, his feet on either side of my hips, his hands landing in my hair. The rough scrape of his nails on my scalp makes me groan.
“Just this once. I don’t want you to expect this every day.”
I will expect it, but I don’t say that out loud. He has no idea how good I am at giving head. I’m the fucking best.
And then he steps forward, slightly off kilter from the angle of the lopsided mattress, but he manages to drag the tip of his dick across my mouth. I let him test it before sticking my tongue out and lapping at his head. Flavor explodes across my taste buds—cum and soap. Fresh and sweet.
His hands tighten in my hair, and I lean forward, taking the tip of him inside of me.
He groans, and so do I, hollowing out my cheeks and applying suction. He pushes forward slightly, and I feel my wrists strain against the bonds on them. I want to loosen them and grab on to his hips. I want to take hold of him and thrust him into me. But I need to move at his pace.
This kidnapping won’t kill me, but that might.
Ansel moves more slowly than I’d like. Like he can’t believe he’s doing this. And I’m left chasing after his cock each time he retreats, my mouth empty and desperate to be filled.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He mutters this several times. With each thrust forward, his cock sinking further into me, he says it.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
He says it until it’s a chant.
Until he’s balls deep in my throat.
“I can’t believe this.”
The bedframe creaks, and my cock leaks as he holds himself there.
Then he pulls out; a slow drag before pushing back in.
This time, each thrust into my mouth is no longer done in disbelief, but anger. He’s going through all the stages of grief, it seems. I can’t wait for acceptance.
I let my tongue slide up and down his length as he tunnels in and out of my throat.
It aches, burns, but fuck, I like it. I like discovering little bits about him.
He gasps when I find that vein on the underside of his cock and trace it.
And he loses control completely when I start to hum.
It’s a nineties song, of course, but one that reminds me of him. One that’s sure to drive him crazy.
The groans he emits almost harmonize with the tune surrounding his cock.
Then I feel it. The tremble in his hands, the way he tightens his hold on my hair, the jerk of his hips.
A feral moan escapes his lips as his hard length explodes right across my tongue and down my throat.
I swallow greedily, not wasting a drop. I drink it down like I’m dehydrated and Ansel is here to sustain me.
He fucks into my mouth sloppily until he’s wrung dry and slumped forward. With a long exhale, he falls down next to me, and I hear him shifting around on the sheets until he’s finally still.
I hold my breath, sitting naked with a wet chin and cum on the edge of my lips.
“That won’t happen again,” he finally says, a little breathless. “But I do feel better. My mind is clear.”
I smack my lips, sinking down slightly, letting my chin hit my chest. I’m turned on, but the taste of him lingering on my tongue is enough to satisfy me. For now, at least.
“Good,” I rasp, my throat sore from the fucking he gave it.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Oh, I love a little pain.”
He murmurs “Of course you do” under his breath and then says, “I’m going to take a nap. If you get up, can you turn off the light in the bathroom?”
I let out a laugh, and a few minutes later, I hear soft snores coming from beside me.
I twist my wrists and manage to get free. Pulling off the blindfold, I see his cheeks are stained the lightest pink. His lower lip is swollen like he’s been biting it. The best part is his smile. Even in sleep, his lips are curved in quiet contentment.
It makes my chest swell. That was me. I did that.
I can’t wait to do it again.
I slip out of bed and use the bathroom before turning the light off.
When I make it back, I slide under the covers right next to him.
I gather him into my arms, just like how we woke up this morning.
He doesn’t protest, but comes willingly.
In sleep, his brain forgets that he’s not supposed to want this.
Even if we both know he does.
This time though, I don’t sleep. I’m wide awake. I’m back to pondering why I’m here and why Ansel is involved in this situation. What is making him more and more frustrated every time he looks at his phone?
I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but I’m sure of one thing.
I’m going to protect him if anyone comes.