Chapter 4 #2
My own cock strains for attention, tenting my jeans and begging for more, but I don’t have time for that now.
I’m building up more and more momentum as I ride Colm, determined to make him squirt in his underwear like a desperate, horny little teenager.
And judging by the flush climbing up his neck and the intensity of the growled, bitten-off noises he’s making, I’m getting close.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Good rabbit.”
Colm gasps, but when he tries to close his mouth again, I grind into him even faster and reach up to tap his bottom lip with one finger.
“No. Keep your mouth open, just like that.” He does as I say, obedient and pliant now. “Tongue out for me,” I whisper, and again he obeys.
His tongue is pink and wet, and I have a stronger urge to lick into his mouth than I was expecting. It’s not something I indulge in, because the reality is always significantly more disappointing than the fantasy, but the urge is there, all the same.
Instead, I gather up the saliva in my mouth, before grabbing his jaw to hold him still and spitting down into his open, waiting maw.
My spit hits his tongue just as I arch my back and grind against him again. And again. And again.
The sight of my own spit smeared over his tongue is enough that he’s not the only one that might come in his pants.
Colm is taking one deep, heaving breath after another at this point, and I can see him about to spill over the edge.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Good rabbit. Come for me.”
His hips jerk a little, and then he makes a raw, desperate, gasping sound that I want to inject directly into my veins.
I can feel his cock twitch where it’s pressed against my taint, even through all the fucking fabric in the way, and I know without a doubt that his stiff, arched body is currently soaking cum all through that fabric in an attempt to get to me.
Colm makes a strangled moan as he comes down, still looking me in the eye. I can’t wait any longer.
With one hand resting directly above his head, I lean forward and unzip myself enough to pull out my aching cock.
I’m so close to exploding that all it takes is a few rough strokes before I come.
I fist my cock, making sure to aim so that Colm’s pretty face gets striped with white, some of it landing in his open mouth where my spit is still pooled.
“Fuck,” I moan, out of words other than that. “Yes.”
The last pulse of cum is more of a dribble, leaving fat, gleaming droplets on Colm’s lips and one on his chin. As soon as the euphoria fades, I’m leaning back to look at my work, kneeling over him still but without any part of us touching.
Without saying anything, I tuck myself away and zip back up, only taking a little peek to admire the dark wet patch on Colm’s trousers.
“Who the fuck are you?” he whispers to me, his voice more wrecked and raspy than it should be.
I shrug.
“I’m your wet dream, apparently.”
His eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m just about to climb off of him when a shrill noise cuts through the air the same way it cuts through my afterglow.
Colm’s face immediately switches to something tense and serious, and I don’t care for it. This person is a far cry from the needy thing I just worked to a messy orgasm, he’s all sharp angles and intensity.
Worst of all, he sits up like I’m the one in his way, and I clamber back off him before we become entangled. Snaking his phone out of his pocket, he pulls it to his ear and answers with a bitten off, “What?”
I can’t make out the words on the other end because I’ve backed away a few feet now, but their tone is coming through loud and clear.
Whiny. Insistent. Speaking quickly, saying something that’s making Colm’s face set in irritation.
At least I know he’s not talking to my father. That expression would be fear, not irritation, for sure.
I space out as I watch him argue, spitting sharp words and orders down the line for a few minutes before finally jerking his phone away from his face and hanging up.
The sight of my cum still decorating his cheeks and chin while he’s in work mode is frankly more distracting than I would have expected.
He must have forgotten about it as well, only noticing the wetness when he goes to rub his forehead before jerking his hand back in surprise.
A series of emotions flitter over his face in rapid succession, a mixture of disgust and lingering horniness that strikes me with the sudden urge to fuck him and then plug all my cum inside him, wearing me while he goes about his bullshit day bossing around these losers.
Colm uses the hem of his shirt to wipe off most of the mess, realizing in the process how wet his crotch is with a renewed look of exasperation.
“Jesus, fuck. What a disaster.”
He mutters the words, and I get the feeling he’s not talking to me, even though he shoots a glare my way.
I shrug again. It’s not like he wasn’t involved, too.
“Come on,” he says before pushing himself off the bed and walking over to a dresser, yanking open a drawer and rifling for clothes.
Huh. We must be in his room after all. How depressingly bland.
“Come on where?” I ask before I get very distracted by him stripping off his clothes to put on clean versions of the same things.
He’s brusque in his movements, and the whole thing feels much more like a locker room than a strip tease, but that doesn’t mean the brief sight of him fully naked—sweaty and cum-slick, standing in front of me like he wants me to see—doesn’t do things to me.
“There’s a problem that I have to fix. And you’ve made it very clear I can’t leave you alone because fuck knows what you’ll do. So, you’re coming with me. Where I can keep a goddamn eye on you.”
He barely looks at me while he says it, but I can see the subtext lurking below the surface, regardless.
Whether it’s more don’t fuck anyone else but me or don’t tell anyone you fucked me, I don’t care. I have no intention of doing either, but I’m not going to tell him that. Not if it gets me invited to his little field trips.
“Are we going to be murdering anyone?” I ask, because I wouldn’t say no to two bloodbaths in one day.
Colm stops, pants on but his fresh shirt still in his hand, and looks at me.
Thick. That word was made to describe him. Thicc is probably even more accurate.
Once again, the thickness distracts me.
“No. You can just try to keep quiet and not kill anyone. That’s your job for the rest of the day. Fuck, the rest of the week.”
I pout, only a little exaggerated.
“You’re no fun. If you didn’t like me murdering people as much as you did, I wouldn’t have had your dick in my ass this morning.”
“And none of that bullshit,” he snaps, pointing at me with the shirt in his hand. “Just…” he hisses in a breath, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for a second like he’s praying or something.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer.
“Just be chill,” he says. “Please.”
The ‘please’ gets to me a little, I’m not going to lie. I’m not usually suckered in by other people’s emotions, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who says ‘please’ very often.
I don’t say anything, which is as much assent as I’m going to give him.
Colm stares at me for a few more minutes before making an angry huffing sound, like a bull waiting to charge. He pulls on his shirt with jerky, rage-fueled movements and then reaches for my arm, like he’s going to drag me with him, before stopping short.
“Let’s go,” is all he says in the end, turning around and expecting me to follow.
Which I do. Because why wouldn’t I? At this point, anyway.
Everything that’s happened since I met him has been far more interesting than the weeks preceding it. I’m down for the ride if he is.
And if I walk unnecessarily close behind him down the hallway, not touching him but occasionally blowing on his ear to make him flinch, well. That’s our little secret.