Chapter 4 #3
I grit my teeth to keep from making a sound as I imagine his pink nipples, slender waist, lush ass, and those long thighs. He has the kind of proportions that would make people’s heads spin, yet he hides in his oversized clothes.
The hunger inside me has turned into a devouring monster.
Those lips would look perfect around my pumping cock, his hair just the right length to fist, yank, and twist as I do extremely wicked things to him.
I’m in actual physical pain. I pull the zipper of my jeans down, and after spitting on my hand, I start beating one off, mirroring the rhythm of his hand.
“Are you imagining sucking my cock, Little Chick?” I whisper darkly, as if I were there next to him. “The masked man is here. I’ll tear off all the clothes you are wearing and bite and lick all the skin you display, leaving traces of my ownership all over your paleness.”
My balls are getting full with cum the more I look at him wiggling his hips then opening his mouth wide on a moan.
I’m fucking dying here, leaking dick in hand, hot breaths filling the inside of my mask.
He’s lean and light—I bet he’s also bendy, could lift him easily as I suck on his hole before rutting my cock inside him.
His hand reaches out of the sheet to grab the bottle of lube.
Holy fuck, this is the hottest sex show I’ve ever seen.
Even though I can’t actually see much. But the pleasure on his face and the excitement behind his movements make my body shake with desperate want.
My hand goes faster as I see myself in bed with him.
His smell of peaches fills my nose—just like it did when I held him in my arms the other day—as I force his legs open to slick his hole up with my spit. Then I use my finger to draw circles around his untouched entrance. He jolts and arches as I slip just the tip inside.
“You are taking it so well.” I push some more as he gazes at me through his dark lashes. “Keep that hole open, Little Chick. We need to make space for my thick, long, hard cock.”
I press all the way in and twist my finger slowly.
He moans and arches his back again, mouth full and drooling, hand working his cute, dripping dick.
The sheets are gliding on one side, revealing his open legs, bare dick, and perfectly pink asshole.
I let out a snarl as I imagine adding more spit to let another finger in and then another.
That virgin pucker is all wet and stretched under my eyes, while I finger fuck him into oblivion.
He grabs the hem of his shirt and stuffs it inside his mouth. Is he moaning too loud? I want to hear him cry out and whimper. I can see his flat belly and hard nipples now. He is a damn vision. I don’t mind the scars; they just tell me he’d be able to fucking take me.
“I’m going to make your hole remember the shape of my cock,” I growl just as his body starts quivering and he says something.
Ezra, I read his lips.
I can almost hear his moaning voice as he utters my name. Fuuuuuuuck! Smooth ropes of cum shoot out of his cockhead over his belly and t-shirt.
I bite my lower lip and see myself flipping him on his hands and knees and forcefully open his tight ass as I plunge my dick balls-deep.
How would he react? What sounds would he make while I give him the first fuck of his life?
Would he try to move away? I wish he would, just to hold him down and mount him like a dog in heat.
“Say my name!” I order him. I remember him voicing my name when we bumped into each other. He doesn’t know I waited for him to come out of the bathroom at Raguel’s house.
My balls draw up, and I let the powerful orgasm explode in my gut and propagate all over my body.
I grind my teeth while the pleasure reverberates inside me, eyes laser-focused on Sully, panting on the bed.
His smooth cheeks are red, the corner of his lips swollen.
He looks beautiful and soft, with his glasses slightly askew.
Those big cat-like eyes are still hazy with bliss.
Soon. I’ll make him say my name soon.
I grab a tissue from my jacket to clean my hand, before tucking my soft dick back inside my pants. When my eyes fall back on the bedroom, Sully is grabbing his diary. My satisfied cock gives a little twitch of anticipation at reading his kinky thoughts.
Fuck! This is getting harder. Tonight, we reached a whole new level of hunger. It’s urging me to get as close as possible, to fill every gap between us. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back much longer.
It feels like my prey is dropping his guard on purpose and giving himself over. After what I’ve just seen, there’s no way in hell I’m letting him go free.
Sully
“We good?” Ash asks me.
I look at my hip. It stings, and the skin is red as hell near the black lines, but I love it. I finally got the triangle tattoo just like the one Oliver and Lori have.
“It’s perfect!” I exclaim and jerk a little as Ash starts rubbing a moisturizing cream on it.
“A little bit too Harry Potter for my liking,” he comments.
“Really?”
I study it with a frown now. I don’t like J.K. Rowling since she started her war against trans people. I don’t really understand when someone uses their means and power to hurt others. Aren’t we all the same under this immense sky?
“Let me see.” Brad leaves his chair in the corner to come closer to the tattoo bed. His athletic, broad shoulders and incredible height cast a shadow over me. As he bends down to get a better look at my tattoo, his blond hair falls down, covering his face and expression.
“It doesn’t matter, man,” he finally states, straightening himself up. “You know the real meaning behind it.”
His clear blue eyes find mine, and with a shrug and a pat on my shoulder, he moves back to let Ash apply some plastic wrap over the tattoo.
As he takes his gloves off, Ash asks, “You going to Pet Manor?”
“Yes. Do you want to come?” I pull my sweats up, carefully avoiding the sensitive skin, but I scratch my belly with one of my nails.
“No.”
“Do you have more appointments?” Brad asks him.
“No,” Ash replies again. Small talk will never be his forte.
“Okay. Thanks for this.” Brad helps me off the bed as Ash pushes the little cart with the tattoo ink, pen machine, and creams far away from me—I almost tipped it over onto the floor when I arrived. I grab my stuff and head to the door.
“Sure. Let me know if you want another one,” Ash says, eyes down on his phone as he taps away.
Another tattoo? Now that I know I can endure the pain, a second one doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
“We could do it together!” I turn toward Brad, who’s putting on his cap and puffer vest.
He nods with a flat little quirk of his lips that doesn’t make it into smile territory. This dull reaction is the opposite of his usual Labrador-enthusiastic response. He’d have buried Ash in questions about besties’ tattoos while filling his iPhone browsers with ink searches.
Since he arrived from California this morning, he has been acting…
odd. Lost into his head. His football team won last week.
I watched the game on TV, and he played beautifully—at least that’s what the commentator said.
So that can’t be the reason behind this atypical behavior.
He is sporting a cut under his eye from that game, and I’m sure he has bruises all over his body as well, but he’s never complained about football injuries in all the years he’s been playing it.
Is it related to his transfer here, then?
I expected a hint of melancholy about him leaving Stanford, but Brad makes friends as easily as rabbits breed—on top of fitting in anywhere he goes.
Is it a girl? I try to remember if a name has come up more often in his stories about his life in California, but it doesn’t seem to be the case.
We leave the tattoo shop, sending another goodbye to Ash, and walk in silence the short distance to Brad’s rental Jeep. I rack my brain for a plausible cause for his odd mood, but I come up empty-handed. As soon as I climb in the passenger seat, I turn toward him.
“Spit it!”
He frowns. “I’m not chewing gum.”
I slap his hand. “What’s with the Lurch Addams mood? And don’t even try to tell me you are fine. I know you inside out, Bradley Lucas Eaton. I could hear solely from your voice over the phone that something is up.”
He sighs and lets his head drop back on the headrest, confirming my suspicions.
“I thought you were stressed because of the transfer. And why are you even transferring here?”
“Sully…I…sorry.”
“I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to confide in me. I kind of feel like you’ve been keeping things from me since…the attack,” I confess.
His head snaps toward me, and a “fuck” leaves his lips. He turns his cap backward, something he does when he’s…uncomfortable. “It involves my father.”
Of course the scumbag is involved, I should have known. He is the reason why Brad went all the way to California. I move my hand over his and squeeze it.
Brad and I met when I started tutoring him.
He was two years younger than me, popular and sporty, and I was a nerd with no friends.
We came from very different backgrounds, poles apart.
He was born in an affluent and wealthy family, with an ancient lineage dating back to the Mayflower—I don’t know why people are proud of descending from pillagers, murderers, and grave desecrators.
Still, they do. Me? I don’t even know who my mother is, and I had a drug dealer for a father.
But Brad’s always treated me with respect, not caring about my origins and past.
We began hanging out. He invited me to his school games, and I made him fall in love with country music. I spent almost all my afternoons at his house after seeing how lonely he looked in that huge place all by himself. When I won a scholarship to his high school, we became inseparable.